


The ends and the means

by The_Devils_Palace



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantastic Racism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music, Musicians, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26614639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Devils_Palace/pseuds/The_Devils_Palace
Summary: Roche doesn't expect to find peace in his life. Least of all in covertly listening to the music of his sworn enemy. Something keeps pulling him back: curiosity? fascination? a death wish? He isn't sure.Iorveth has one place of solace in his fight against the dh'oine oppression of his people. A distant waterfall where he can be himself instead of a commander to a rebellion. It is his place of peace until the day he realises he is being watched.They are inexorably drawn to one another through music and a new found respect for the other.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 32
Kudos: 70





	1. The Clearing

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me one evening and within a week I had 15k words. I think it will be long, but I am not sure how long. Please enjoy the results of my ADHD hyper focus ^^
> 
> I have based a lot of the music on this on various songs I felt fitting. I will post the songs at the end of each chapter. I have rewritten the lyrics to some, I might post these as a separate fic or chapter at some point.

##  I

Roche often liked to scout around on his own. He liked the thrill of being alone, only relying on and being responsible for himself. He was starting to get to know these woods better and better, the more he hunted the Scoia'tael. His first encounter with Iorveth and his unit had been a success. The elven bastard had taken out all the other heads of special forces, but not him, Vernon Roche. He felt a burning pride in his chest at that knowledge. 

Iorveth was formidable. An opponent of great cunning who inspired fierce loyalty in his followers. He was in every sense a threat. A threat Roche had been trusted by the king himself with the responsibility of eliminating. 

The part of the forest he was currently scouting was new. It was not too far from the Blue Stripes base camp bust was further West that they usually strayed. It was far from the roads that the Scoia'tael tended to raid. It was a lot more wild, full of densely packed trees and the lush undergrowth of undisturbed ancient woodlands. Roche was following a stream, the ground near the banks was useful for tracking. He had only seen tracks of dear and the odd wild boar so far, not a Squirrel track in sight.

The day was warm for Spring and the forest hummed with life even at this early hour. The sun had barely risen, the fresh damp of the dawn making the forest smelly earth and fresh. He really loved this time of day, it had a certain quiet peace that Roche had always been rather partial to. Roche carried on, staying alert but his sense of safety growing as he saw no signs that this part of the forest was frequented by either elves or humans. The stream bent round eventually and headed North. Up ahead he could hear the sound of running water. The forest opened out ahead. There was a pool that was fed by a high but gentle waterfall. 

Roche headed towards the clearing, he was considering refilling his waterskin and maybe splashing some cool water on his face. He had already worked up a sweat from his excursion. Before he got to the clearing he heard a noise that made him freeze and slip quietly into the shadows.

It was the high beautiful song of a flute. An elven flute if Roche’s ears did not deceive him. Roche listened carefully to pick out where the sound came from. It seemed to drift from the waterfall. Roche crept slowly and silently closer to the edge of the clearing. He could now see perched near the top of the waterfall the lithe figure of an elf. The figure was dangling one toe in the waterfall. He wore a simple green tunic and his hose were rolled to his knees. It looked like there was a pile of armour and boots beside him. Something about the figure seemed familiar but Roche could not see clearly enough from his vantage point.

The song the elf played was achingly beautiful even to Roche’s ears. It seemed to speak clearly despite having no words. It told of sadness, longing and loss. Roche was so enchanted by it he forgot where and who he was for the moment. He just let the music wash over him. It felt like every note struck him firmly in his chest, reminding him of the aches of his own losses. He just simply froze and let the notes wash over him. It felt like time worked differently within the song, when the elf finally stopped playing Roche could have sworn it had been both an eternity and no time at all. It was like a spell had broken.

The elf lowered the flute and played with the water gently at his feet. Delicately moving his foot through it as it fell to the pool below. Roche had to get closer and get a better look at the elf. See if it was a face he recognised from battle. He almost doubted it, the elf was out alone a long way from any known Scoia’tael camps. He crept slowly and carefully down the side of the clearing until he found a spot where he had a much closer view of the elf. He looked up, the elf’s face had been mostly turned away before. Now, from this new vantage point Roche could see his face clearly. His breath caught uncomfortably in his chest. It was none other than Iorveth.

His dark hair hung long about his face, his bandana sat atop the pile of armour. Roche could see the vicious scarring on his face and the empty socket where an eye used to be. Roche reached for his crossbow. This would be the perfect opportunity to take out the rebel commander. To single handedly take out one of the most infamous leaders of the Scoia'tael would be an achievement almost beyond measure. Roche could almost see the look of pride on his king's face if he were to bring him such news; a warmth at the thought settled on his chest. 

He knew he should take this opportunity before it was lost to him. He willed his arm to raise, to take the shot, but something was holding him still. As Roche watched transfixed, Iorveth raised the flute to his lips again and started to play. This time the song was more hopeful, but still had a sad edge to it that spoke of yearning. In the soft light of dawn, the unscarred side of Iorveth’s face looked so different from the defiant snarl Roche was used to seeing in battle. It was softer, relaxed, not at peace as such but in this moment he wasn’t fighting or commanding anyone. He just was. Roche couldn’t explain it but this moment felt private, like he wasn’t meant to be there. A strange feeling rose in his chest, he couldn’t put words to it but felt something close to an ache.

He tried to will his body to move and take the shot. He was sure this chance would never find him again. Yet he still couldn’t raise his arm. He couldn’t quite articulate why but shooting the elf like this, in such a clearly private moment felt dishonourable. It had such a sense of wrongness to it, like shooting a mother doe and leaving her fawns to perish alone. 

Roche stood frozen, two parts of himself at war with each other. One side, the loyal servant and right hand to the king, telling him that his loyalty to his King meant that he had duty to take the almost unbelievable shot he had been offered. Foltest would want him to. The other, the soldier, telling him that to kill his rival in such a way was the act of a coward. If he was to take the honour of being the one to bring about the death of such a foe then it should be on the battlefield and nowhere else. He wanted to prove himself.

He stood frozen until Ioveth had once again finished a song. As the song ended he knew deep in his heart which path he would take. He felt his feet back slowly away. When he was far enough to move more freely he began to run. He needed to get away and pretend he had never been there. That he had never seen his rival in such a way. He kept running, pushing himself hard. Every time he slowed the melancholy tune of the flute floated back into his mind. 

Once he had pushed himself so hard that he had a nasty stitch, he relented and slowed. He felt angry with himself. He internally kicked himself. Why had he done that? He should have taken the shot. It wasn’t his job to be honourable, it was his job to take down the Scoia’tael and eliminate their threat to Temeria. That’s what Foltest had asked of him. He walked slowly for the rest of the journey back to the camp. Part of him was still holding onto the strange feeling in his chest that the elf’s song had risen. He resolved to never let an opportunity like that go again, honour be damned.

-

##  II

Roche knew he was screwed. The morning in the clearing had plagued his mind, much like the itch of a cheap wool tunic, ever since he returned to camp. The sound of the flute and the ache it created in his chest played on him throughout the day. The image of Iorveth sitting in the early morning light atop the waterfall haunted his dreams. He told himself that it was regret for not taking the shot but even he knew that it was something else. He had some kind of deep fascination with the side of Iorveth he had seen that morning. 

It was taking his mind off his mission, not entirely but enough that he was making mistakes. Earlier that day he had faced down Iorveth, it had been a surprise confrontation where both parties had accidentally happened on the other. Roche had been slower to act than he would have liked. His gaze lingered too long on the elf’s fierce face remembering what it had looked like that morning, relaxed and soft. The hesitation meant that eventually he and his men had to retreat. As they did so one of his men, Fenn, took an arrow to the shoulder. Objectively Roche knew it wasn’t his fault. But, the lingering guilt he felt at turning away that morning, at hesitating in that confrontation meant he felt responsible. 

They headed back to camp, Fenn complaining loudly the whole way. Igo, or Pillow Tits as he was affectionately known, followed behind Fenn fussing over the injury. 

“Fucking Squirrels and their archers. One of these days I am going to ram one of their arrows down one of their throats. Fuck.” The arrow, thankfully, had been easy enough to pull out at the time. The wound still needed cleaning and stitches. Instead of letting the wound be tended to Fenn had marched off in the direction of the camp, one hand wrapped in a rag pressed over the wound.

“Stop moving like that, you are going to make it worse.” PT grumbled, as Fenn stomped off towards camp.

“You’re not touching me again until I have had at least three shots of something.” Fenn yelled back.

Once they got back to camp and he was sure the injury was not too severe, Roche stormed off into the woods. He needed to blow off steam. He walked in what felt like an aimless direction, but as he carried on he realised that it wasn’t. His feet were retracing his steps. He didn’t know why they insisted on taking him back to the scene of his shame, but he guessed his mind clearly desired some self-flagellation after today. Iorveth would almost certainly not be there. It was stupid to go back really, yet Roche’s feet carried him there anyway. 

By the time he reached the clearing twilight was pulling at the end of the afternoon. The last fiery orange light of the day making the forest seem almost ethereal. He approached the edge of the clearing quietly, he couldn’t hear anything but it would be foolish to approach with anything other than caution. As he reached the edge of the clearing he looked up to where he had seen Iorveth lounging before. There was no figure there now. He felt his heart sink, he was a fool. Why would Iorveth come back here? Even if he did come back here sometimes, Roche was stupid to think that somehow it would just happen to be at the same time as he had decided to return. He huffed an irritated sigh at himself and turned to leave.

That’s when he heard it. A sound of movement. He froze, the sound had come from behind him. He slowly turned back, his heart pounding in his ears. He was ready to move fast if he needed to. In his pig-headed need to get this out of his system he now realised he had left camp unarmed. He looked into the clearing and saw a solitary figure at the bottom of the waterfall this time. He didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know exactly who it was. Iorveth had emerged from the treeline and had flopped gracefully on a large flat rock that hung over the pool at the base of the waterfall. He was still wearing his armour and his bandana. He still looked flushed from battle, but he had the swagger of one who had come away victorious. 

Roche watched him from the shadows. The elf lay there for a long time just staring up at the sky, stained orange and pink from the setting sun. After a while he drew his flute from his belt and put it to his lips. The tune this time was more upbeat, a very different feel to the songs Roche had overheard last time. It felt hopeful but also fierce. A song of battle? Of victory? Of defiance? 

Roche had loved music since he was a child. It was one of the few nice things he and his mother had shared. She had taught him to play, how to understand music and how to write it. She had gifted him her vielle when he got old enough to hold it properly. He still took it with him to most places. It never hurt to have music to keep his men’s spirits up. 

As he listened to Iorveth’s song he tried to work out the structure, tried to understand it. Some things he could pick out, but it was very different from the music he was used to hearing at home. The structure was different, more lilting and free. Iorveth stopped playing, but it didn’t quite feel like the end of the song. Roche held his breath, maybe Iorveth had sensed him? He made no move to get up, after a few beats he simply carried on the tune with his voice, singing in Elder. Roche strained to hear. Iorveth’s voice was deep but sweet in its own way. Every so often he could hear notes that sounded slightly rough with the gravelly tone that came from shouting commands all day. Roche listened intently, trying to translate the words. His understanding of Elder was limited but he managed to pick out some parts. 

The song started with something about monsters, shadows and fear. Then something about an evil creature. It was hard to make out, but he did manage to get almost a whole line: 

_ Mus tainig taedh ninnau beò aen sìth ach taedh thug ninnau marw.  _

_ Before you came we lived in peace but you have brought us death. _

He felt a cold jolt through his body, he was fairly sure what this song must be about. He listened further. There were few lines that repeated like a chorus. 

_ Oir aé n'te dice dh'oine _

_ taedh esse neén tuigsinn an ghar essea ag ràdh _

_ Because I don't speak human _

_ You will never understand a word I'm saying _

Roche almost scoffed, showed what the Squirrel knew. As the lines repeated he noticed that they changed slightly.

_ Aé n'te dice dh'oine _

_ taedh eil thu ag iarraidh aep tuigsinn an ghar essea ag ràdh _

_ I don't speak human _

_ You don’t want to understand a word I'm saying _

That sent another cold shiver through Roche. There was something in those words that struck him. It felt like a jab and a challenge. It left him cold. If he didn’t know better he would almost say that those words felt solely directed at him. He felt his stomach drop and his face heat. 

Iorveth’s voice petered out. He put the flute back to his lips and carried on the song without the words. But Roche knew now, his mind put the words he understood to the music he could hear. The ache in his chest changed, it took on an edge of shame. 

He watched Iorveth as he finished the song. He was still dressed from battle but his face took on that softer more peaceful look. Roche wondered if his fellow Scoia’tael ever got to see him this way. He wondered what this place was to him. As far as he could tell it was far away from the part of the forest where the Scoia’tael had their camps. Perhaps he needed time away from being a commander. Roche knew what that was like. Wasn’t it that which had ultimately brought him here? Was that what stayed his hand last time? Did he see some of himself in Iorveth? That thought chilled him more than the words to the elf’s song. 

It was time to leave. He had seen enough, he knew too much now. Now, he knew this was a place Iorveth came regularly; it was a place he came alone, a place he came for peace. He knew what Iorveth sounded like when he sang. He knew what the anger of elves sounded like in song. These were things the commander of the Blue Stripes and right hand to the King shouldn’t know. 

He backed off quietly again. He walked back to camp slowly, chewing over what he had just seen and what it meant. Why did seeing Iorveth like that change anything? It shouldn’t change anything. Yet somehow, it had. What had he even sort to gain from going back? Justification for his earlier cowardice? The chance at redemption by following through on his chance to kill? Well he had failed on that score, twice now.

-

##  III

That was how it started. From then on Roche kept finding himself inexplicably drawn to that clearing. The next few times he went there he found it empty. Each time he felt his heart sink and chastised himself for even going there in the first place. Yet he kept going back, hoping to catch a glimpse of Iorveth once more.

The next time he saw the elf it was a disgustingly hot and close summer afternoon. He had just spent a rather uncomfortable day in the heat trying to fix up a broken axle on one of the Blue Stripes waggons. They had managed it eventually but not without a fair amount of false starts and cursing. He was hot and sticky and desperately wanted to be out of the close stinking atmosphere of their camp. Roche was always dumbfounded at the stink ten soldiers could kick up on a hot day. 

He walked down the now familiar path alongside the stream. It was cooler here and he started to feel the stresses of the day melting away. He reached the clearing expecting it to be empty save for perhaps a bird or rabbit. He got to his usual spot and looked out across the clearing and the pool. This spot was heavily shaded, set between the rock face that led up to become the waterfall and a dense thicket of grey willow. He settled himself out of sight and enjoyed the coolness of the shade. If nothing else he could see why Iorveth chose this spot to get away, it was a very pleasant, safe feeling part of the forest. 

He let his mind wonder, running through various tangents of past memories, current issues to solve and strange disconnected strands of thought. He was so relaxed he almost started dozing when he caught a movement in the periphery of his vision. It took all his special forces training not to startle and give away his position. He focused on where he had seen the movement, and there at the top of the waterfall was a familiar figure. 

Roche’s heart jolted in a strange way. He put it down to the surprise of seeing the elf after all those times he had come here and been greeted by silence. He watched as Iorveth climbed down the slippery side of the waterfall with all the grace of a cat. He dropped to the ground near the rock Roche had seen him sprawled on last time. He looked hot and tired. He began stripping off his armour with fumbling relief, clearly enjoying the prospect of shedding the heavy garments in the sticky oppressive heat of the summer afternoon. 

He carried on undressing until he was in the tunic and hose Roche had seen him in the first time he had come here. Then Iorveth pulled the tunic over his head. His long lithe body was angular, the muscles of a soldier clearly visible. His skin was sun darkened and covered in scars with the pattern of his leaved tattoo reaching down his chest and up his long neck. Iorveth then bent to slip off his hose and stood again pulling off his bandana. All of sudden there he was standing before Roche, fully, completely naked.

Roche looked away immediately. He had not quite been expecting that. Despite the fact that this was his enemy, it still felt invasive to look at him this way. He heard a soft splash and a sigh. He looked up curiously and saw that Iorveth had slipped into the pool. Most of his body had sunk below the cool water’s surface and he was resting with his head floating on the surface. His long hair floated gracefully out from his head like silky fronds of waterweed. 

The elf floated there for a long while, his face in that soft expression that Roche had found himself longing to see. Why he longed for it, he was not sure. Perhaps it was cathartic to see a peaceful expression on another commander's face. It was reassuring to know that it was possible. Sitting there hidden, Roche felt peaceful. He knew that defied all logic, but here he was and he knew deep down he needed that peace.

Vernon Roche had not experienced much peace. His life mostly alternated between suffering and fighting. As a child his mother’s status had meant he was seen as less...always less. He’d had to fight tooth and nail to get anywhere. Until Foltest, his king, had helped him. But then life as a soldier wasn’t much different, war meant suffering and fighting almost continuously. At least this kind of suffering and fighting had a purpose. A purpose bigger than he was, more important than he was. It was to ensure the future, for his King, for his country, for his fellow comrades. It was all worth it for that.

As he watched, Iorveth stretched in the water and eventually rose. Roche mostly kept his gaze away once he got out fully. Iorveth sorted through his pile of clothes and armour and spent some time washing his tunic and hose in the cool water. Once finished he spread the clothes and himself on the flat rock to dry off in the last of the day's sun. Roche’s eye is drawn to him, to his face, mostly. He just couldn’t quite look away. Despite his hatred for his rival he couldn’t help but notice the elven beauty of him. Even with the missing eye and the scars, his face just..had something about it. Not that Roche would ever admit that outside of his own head. 

Iorveth sat up eventually and stretched. He reached into his pile of belongings and pulled out his flute. Roche’s heartbeat picked up slightly. He didn’t realise he had been hoping to hear Iorveth play until the prospect was right in front of him. Iorveth began to play, this song was quiet and flowing, the notes slipping into each other like ripples on the water. It was slow and drawn out, it spoke of stillness and a comforting kind of melancholy. It was peaceful. 

Roche connected with music a little differently from most people, it was probably why he liked it so much. When music played he could almost feel the notes dance across his skin, he could feel them in his bones. He closed his eyes and let the notes flow across him, just taking in each note as both a sound and a feeling all at once.

By the time Iorveth finished, Roche was so relaxed he could have almost drifted off again. Iorveth put the flute away and fiddled around in his things again, this time withdrawing a pipe. Roche watched him pack it with practiced fingers and light it with a tinderbox. Iorveth leaned back against the cool rock at his back and puffed on the pipe lightly. He looked lost in thought.

Roche was once again reminded that he was once again witnessing a moment that was never meant for him. But, he just couldn’t help but be drawn to it. There was something about how this moment existed in time that made it feel separate from everything else. He almost wished he could stay here and just exist outside of all his problems and responsibilities. 

He drew in a breath and let out a quiet sigh. He knew he had to leave. If he was gone too long they would send people out to look for him. He took one last long look at Iorveth, sprawled out in the last light of the day, his pipe gently smoking, his one eye closed. The heady smell of the pipe had drifted over to Roche and the smell mingled with the warm earthy scents of the forest. Roche closed his eyes again for just a minute to commit it all to memory before he quietly got up and went back to his camp.

-

##  IV

The next time he went back to the clearing was a few weeks later. It had been a terrible day. He had led the Blue Stripes to intercept a Scoia’tael ambush. The intel they had been given was correct about the place but not about the time. They had arrived just after the ambush had taken place. The clash had been bloody, one of his men, a couple of elves and unfortunately a bystander had lost their lives. Everyone had been in too close quarters for it not to turn vicious quickly. There was no easy way for either side to retreat. Thankfully, Roche was on the other side of the fight to Iorveth. He caught glances of the elf. His face an angry snarl. But it was not close enough for him to become distracted.

After the fight, his unit convened in silence. The man they had lost, Smithy, had been a relatively new recruit and his death had struck them all. They ended up burying him and the bystander at the side of the road with a quick prayer. PT had created a crude grave marker out of some rocks. They all stood there for a long time lost in thought before quietly returning to camp.

Back at camp, everyone sat around cleaning off or tending to wounds and equipment in unnatural silence. They had faced worse, many times, but it always hit harder when they lost someone young. It didn’t help that the warm close weather had broken and they were being coated in a warm fuzz of summer drizzle. 

Shorty and Silas were leaning on PT, looking sadly into the fire. Sheridan sat near them cleaning off his sword in a daze. Fenn was busying himself with cooking, cursing even more than normal. Ves and Thirteen were talking quietly off near the edge of the camp and Finch sat near Roche, fixing the handle of one of the more battered cooking pots. This was the most subdued he had seen any of them for a long time. 

He knew that losing people was all part and parcel of being in the army, but it never made these moments any easier. He started thinking over the encounter and trying to work out what had gone wrong and how he could have been better. A better leader...a better soldier. He must have lost himself quite thoroughly in the spiral because Ves’ hand on his shoulder took him by surprise.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You did what you could.” she said quietly.

“How do you know what I was thinking?” he answers with a gruff laugh.

“Written all over your ugly face.” she cracks back, punching him lightly in the shoulder. He smiles half-heartedly back at her. He looks round at the sorry bunch of misfits that were the Blue Stripes. It was definitely time for a drink.

“Thirteen!”

“Yes Boss?”

“Get us some hooch, tonight shouldn’t be spent sober.” At his command, Thirteen jumps up and goes to scramble around in his tent for the hooch. Roche makes a gruff noise as he pushes himself up, nothing went better with drinking your sorrows away than music. He fetched the case for his vielle from his tent. He began the task of tuning it as the hooch was passed out. It took a fair while to tune in the damp so by the time he was ready to play he was pleasantly warm from the hooch.

“Alright lads, do you want to cry now, or later?” He asked with a wry smile. 

“I want now.” says PT. Several of the others murmured agreement. Ves, Fenn and Finch stayed pointedly silent.

“Now it is then. This is for you Smithy.” Roche said raising his glass in a toast and downing the contents. He tucked the vielle under his chin carefully and started to play. The song was a bittersweet favourite of his. It was an older folk song simply called ‘Farewell’. It had no lyrics but he suspected it was a mourning song for soldiers heading to war. To him it spoke of the nostalgia of home but also of sadness of losses now and losses yet to come. It was slow and meandering, it reminded him of a long road home. It ended on a slightly more hopeful note almost like a hope of returning. Songs like this Roche really got lost in, it was just him, his vielle and the notes vibrating through them both. 

When he finished the song he let the vielle slowly down from his chin as he came back to himself. He looked around the group. PT, Shorty and Silas were openly crying. The others were either looking sadly into their mugs of hooch or staring deeply into the fire. 

“Ok, moping time is over. Time for all of us to lighten up a bit and give Smithy the send off he deserves.” Roche croaked, he found his eyes were surprisingly wet too. He tucked the vielle back in place and began a jig he had learned a few years ago from some Skelligan sailors. It was upbeat and had all the warm optimism of a tavern. 

With every song he played he felt the mood lift. As the evening drew on they got steadily drunker until Roche had had enough that he was finding it difficult to play. He put the vielle away. Now his men were in a better state, drinking and betting on games of dice by the sounds of it, Roche wanted some space. Perhaps it was the drink, but he felt the clearing calling to him. Iorveth wouldn’t be there after today, of that he was fairly sure. But, he longed for the peace the place gave him. The night had cleared up and the sky was bright with a full moon. Walking there would be no trouble. 

Ves caught his arm as he headed out of the camp.

“Where are you going? she asked, one of her sharp eyebrows raised.

“I need a walk, shouldn’t be gone too long.” he replied with a stiff smile.

“Be careful, you know what the woods can be like at night.” she said pointedly.

“Come on Ves, my face is scarier than anything out there.” Roche smiled at his own self deprecating joke. She snorted and knocked his shoulder with hers as she returned to drinking.

As he walked away from the camp he could feel tension he had not been aware of holding ebb away. The now familiar path felt good to walk somehow. He had come to know each tree, rock and bush along the way. Even with several mugs of hooch fuzzing up his vision he knew this path. As he reached the familiar willows surrounding the clearing he breathed out a sigh. Why does this always feel like coming home after a long day?

The clearing was empty, as Roche expected. He found his normal spot and settled down. He stared at the play of the moonlight on the pool and let his eyes lose focus. He couldn’t quite find peace after the day he’d had but this was as close as he was going to get. He wasn’t there all that long when he heard a noise. A crack and a scattering of pebbles. He froze and looked about him. He hoped to god it isn't some kind of beast, he was far too drunk to deal with that.

As he looked up he saw a figure standing at the top of the waterfall. He doesn’t need to see their face to know who it is. The moonlight streams through the trees onto the face of his enemy, the face of Iorveth. 

Roche just stared, he really wasn’t expecting to see him here tonight. Iorveth looked different and it wasn’t just the moonlight. His face looked pinched and pale. Roche wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He remembered that Iorveth lost two today. He was just taking all this in when Iorveth let out a scream that was mostly howl. The noise ripped straight through Roche like the well aimed slice of a dagger. He could almost feel the pain in it. 

He heard him curse loudly in Elder, his body shaking. He reached down to his feet and picked up a rock. He flung it with all of his archers strength at the rock below. It landed with an unnerving crack and shattered. Roche can see Iorveth’s chest heaving. The elf approached the edge and jumped down. It is a fair height and he landed heavily with a loud curse. 

Roche could see his face better now that he was closer. His face was a mixture of anger and sadness. He walked over to the pool slowly and stared down into it for a long while, his shoulders still shaking. He then let out another long howling scream and turned away as if disgusted by what he’d seen. He turned to one of the trees at the edge of the willow thicket where Roche was hidden. Iorveth let out another scream and slammed his fist into it. He paused breathing heavily before raining blows down onto the gnarled willow trunk. He slammed his fists into it again and again until he just fell to his knees. 

He was so close that Roche could see the tears pouring down his face and the blood on his knuckles. He had never been this close to the elf outside of the battle field. Seeing him like this did something to him that he couldn’t explain. He felt torn, he should be pleased that Iorveth had lost out that day, but an overwhelming part of him just wanted to comfort him. He knew what it was like to lose someone as a commander: the guilt, the anger at yourself, the concern for your cause and your other soldiers. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, it was messed up. He had to keep sight of who this was.

He listened to Iorveth’s sobs, growing more and more uncomfortable. It was wrong for him to see Iorveth like this. They were enemies. This was a side he shouldn’t know existed. Not if he wanted to do his job. But he couldn’t stop looking at Iorveth’s broken tear stained face and blood stained hands. He should want that elven blood spilt, but truthfully all he wanted to do was help clean him up and tell him what Ves had told him earlier when he was spiralling. It must be the drink. He wouldn’t entertain these thoughts sober. 

Eventually Iorveth stood and headed back to the pool to clean off his hands. Roche let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. He needed to leave right now. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have seen this.

-

Roche swore to himself that night that he was never going back there. If he couldn’t kill the bastard because of his own damned honour complex then he shouldn’t be watching the elf’s most vulnerable moments. It was twisted and it was messing with his head. He had already lost one man, he would be damned if he would lose another. He needed his best head in the game.

He managed to squash his urges to go back to the clearing with a concerted effort. But images of Iorveth plagued his thoughts. Iorveth sat at the top of the waterfall with his foot playing in the water. Iorveth naked and lying back smoking his pipe. Iorveth’s tear stained face and bloody knuckles. He couldn’t get the images out of his head no matter how hard he tried.

He wasn’t sure why his mind had chosen to fixate on it. There were so many reasons why it was a terrible idea, but that didn’t seem to matter. Thoughts of Iorveth were keeping him up at night, chasing around his head like fox cubs in spring. He needed to do something about it. 

He had stopped going to the clearing because he was afraid going would make him a worse commander. However, it seemed that his mind was determined to do that for him anyway. After several days agonising over the decision, he resolved to go the next day and see if he could find a way to just let it go for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music that inspired this chapter is as follows (check them out ^^):
> 
> Magic mists and sacred tree - Jessita Reyes https://open.spotify.com/album/7IBhMzIhtJtGRj4eKPZElW?si=tPpSpe5dRuKegEjb4menOA
> 
> I don't speak human - OMNIA https://open.spotify.com/track/20uxrdhmTo3mWhCZlo21d2?si=MMm_GmmISmKMKwVl1uN0IA
> 
> Bonny at Morn - Virginia Company https://open.spotify.com/track/3HC0TTVKOFSuBZtB6pzMRZ?si=hS_wyh1QT46CqU18joUWTQ
> 
> Ashokan Farewell - https://open.spotify.com/track/20UOo3jLNmsIHn5BaYDR3z?si=9lrY5HNPRT2S_K9K7UALgA
> 
> Fille-vern - Vidar Lande https://open.spotify.com/track/7tNKPg17o9054IJa6noHDU?si=VlKKFfIwSteXwSqYpxpfgA


	2. The Waterfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth finished the song and just let it settle. He knew he had to have hope or he was done for, but sometimes it helped to sit with it all. As he sat still like that, he heard a noise, an unfamiliar noise. He kept very still, not giving away any sign that he had noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement at the edge of the clearing, in a thicket of small dense willow trees. He watched carefully, doing his best impression of being relaxed. He hoped that it was just a deer.
> 
> He saw another flash of movement, of blue… His blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. All his muscles coiled ready to reach for his bow. He waited for the attack, his heart racing. It never came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I intended. I hope you enjoy!

##  V

Iorveth’s youth seemed almost like an unreal blur to him now. He was aware that the events had happened but it felt like it had happened to an entirely different person now. He had come from a simple large family. Most of his siblings were hunters or craftspeople of some kind. Their life was simple and was one of the lowest in elven standing. They lived on the outskirts of the elven city Bhòidean, which was now the human city of Vizima. Iorveth was the youngest and had always been the baby of the family. Unlike his parents and siblings, he had a restless soul, his attention never stayed anywhere for long. Once he gained the barest mastery of something he got bored and moved to the next thing. His family were affectionately frustrated by him but generally, let him go about his life as he wished. 

One of Iorveth’s many talents was making noise, much to the annoyance of those around him he was rarely ever still or quiet. When he was very young he quickly picked up how to mimic the calls of various animals; from the calls of various birds to the various grunts of deer. This proved useful in hunting so he was often brought along to help on large hunts. When he was a bit older he had been given a simple reed pipe by one of his older sisters. She’d hoped it would keep him occupied for more than five minutes, and on this occasion, her hopes bore fruit. Iorveth was fascinated by the sounds he could get it to make. Within a few weeks, he managed to learn whole songs. He spent his evenings entertaining his family with the new ditties he had learnt or composed.

By the time he reached adulthood, there wasn’t an instrument Iorvetrh hadn’t mastered. He was well known throughout Bhòidean for his talents and his looks. The status of his birth meant that he mostly played taverns and parties, rather than in the palaces or theatres. Between his devilishly good looks and his skills with multiple instruments, his performances were quite a novelty. He took great pleasure in dressing outlandishly and being a figure nearly everyone knew. He was thought by his admirers to be a savant and ahead of his time and as gaudy and an upstart by his detractors. Iorveth kind of revelled in the criticism, he found he quite enjoyed shocking people.

He spent time cultivating everything about his performance to the instruments he played to the clothes he wore. Iorveth did not have the fine bone structure or fairer hair of more highborn elves, but the length and thickness of his hair and the dramatic sharpness of his features heralded as beautiful. He carefully honed his style: brightly coloured robes, intricately braided hair with small gold rings woven through it and a delicate yet colourfully painted face. His costumes were clearly enjoyed by his audiences and soon there were many imitating him.

-

It had been a long day. Iorveth’s unit was still mourning after the ambush two weeks before. It always struck hard to lose someone...but two in one fight was a lot. They were weakened when they were already weak, a dying species. 

Iorveth needed to clear his head. The waterfall, his waterfall, was his favourite place in the whole forest. If anywhere would ever truly belong to him it would be that waterfall. Something about the tucked away glade calmed something deep in his soul, and his soul definitely needed calming. 

He had found it while out on an overly long scouting mission. Before the waterfall he just used to go out exploring until he calmed down. Now, he had a place, a place that was just his. It was in a part of the forest that was close enough to the Blue Stripes camp that his fellow Scoia'tael would not venture there, but in a direction that the Blue Stripes never seemed to venture. 

He followed the rocky stream bank until he reached it, the place where the forest opened up and led to a rocky shelf which the stream poured over into the pool below. Sometimes he liked to sit at the top and look out over the forest. He could see for miles from up here, watching the birds and squirrels moving in the trees. Below the shelf there was a glorious pool. The cool clear water was wonderful to bathe in, particularly in the long hot summer months. The grove of grey willow below felt enclosed and safe. He enjoyed lounging around by the pool. He could play his flute and smoke his pipe in peace, without someone constantly asking him for...something.

He stood at the top of the waterfall for a while and looked out over the forest. He let out a long sigh. His chest still hurt from the loss. He climbed deftly down the rock face until he was sitting on his favourite rock. He looked over into the pool. He didn’t often let himself do this. The sight of his own face still shocked him even all these years later. They never had cause for mirrors out here in the forest, so he rarely looked at his own reflection. He thought that was likely a good thing. Looking at what the dh’onie had taken from him made his whole body seize up with rage and sadness. But, today he looked, took in his whole appearance. 

He could feel his sorrow welling up again. He had been suppressing it all week and now that he was alone he just let it go. They may well not win this, he and all the people he led may just die fighting. His whole people would be lost to history, all the pain and fighting and loss would be for nothing. He allowed that thought to sit for a while. He couldn’t think like this most of the time. He knew if they had any chance, if they had any dignity left to them then their only option was to fight. Their only chance of having the future they wanted was to keep fighting and dreaming big. Deep down, however, he knew this fight would likely kill him and everyone he knew. 

He laid back and began to sing softly. A song of sadness but also hope. He clung to the words desperately. He needed them. 

_ Out of the fallen trees we sing _

_ Sing like we're losing everything _

_ Lost and without a place to go _

_ Sing for myself it's all I know _

_ Born in an ancient century _

_ Sing for our fallen memory _

_ Born to face a setting sun _

_ Sing for our mothers and our sons _

_ We sing for the voices never heard _

_ Sing for the lessons we've still not learned _

_ Sing for the peace we've never won _

_ Sing for the work that's still not done _

_ And if on our darkest days we cry _

_ Sing 'til we put our fears aside _

_ And if I feel myself begin to fold _

_ Sing for myself it's all I know _

He finished the song and just let it settle. He knew he had to have hope or he was done for, but sometimes it helped to sit with it all. As he sat still like that, he heard a noise, an unfamiliar noise. He kept very still, not giving away any sign that he had noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement at the edge of the clearing, in a thicket of small dense willow trees. He watched carefully, doing his best impression of being relaxed. He hoped that it was just a deer.

He saw another flash of movement, of blue… His blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. All his muscles coiled ready to reach for his bow. He waited for the attack, his heart racing. It never came. 

When he was sure that it wasn’t coming, he quickly and quietly reached for his bow and slipped silently into the forest. He moved quickly and quietly in the direction he saw the movement. He could see fresh tracks in the soft earth of the stream bank. He didn’t know quite what to expect, part of him was still expecting an ambush. He moved further out from the bank into the cover of the dense trees.

He followed the stream from a distance trying to get a glimpse of whoever had been in the willow thicket. Eventually, he caught up, he could see a figure up ahead. Whoever it was, was walking casually with no sense of urgency. If it was one of the Blue Stripes then, surely they would be racing back to their camp? Yet as he got closer the Blue Stripes uniform was unmistakable...as was the chaperone. Roche. Vernon fucking Roche. Had been what? Watching him? Iorveth felt a shiver of rage run through him. What was the bastard dh’oine’s game?

Iorveth couldn’t quite explain what he felt in that moment. Violated? Afraid? Furious? Curious? Either way, he kept following him back to his camp. Iorveth hung back in the trees, making sure he had plenty of cover. It would not do to alert the whole unit to his presence this far from his own troops. Maybe if he hung around a while he could find out what the dh’oine had been doing.

He watched as Roche entered the camp. His second in command, Ves, if Iorveth remembered correctly, approached him.

“Where have you been? Finch was looking for you. The waggon axle broke again.” she asked him.

“Just went for a walk, needed to stretch my legs.” The lie was smooth, almost effortless. Iorveth tensed his jaw. Why would he lie about where he had been? Why wasn’t he telling them that he had seen Iorveth? Iorveth didn’t like this, it didn’t make sense. He needed to find out more.

He settled in to keep watch on Roche. He carried on around the camp, helping fix the waggon then preparing dinner with one of the larger bold dh’oine. Once the food was cooking Roche took his leave. He slipped into what was presumably his tent and brought out a case. He slipped away from the camp. Iorveth followed him a little way away from the camp where he sat on a large tree stump and opened the case. Inside was a type of stringed instrument that looked like a fiddle. Iorveth watched curiously as Roche carefully cleaned and tuned the instrument. He then picked up the bow and began to play.

Iorveth didn’t know what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting him to be so...good. The tune waved and wandered first high and then low, slowly rising to a crescendo. Roche’s precision with the bow drew out precise beautiful notes even from this simple tune. Iorveth shivered. Why was this affecting him? It shouldn’t matter to him whether or not Roche could play music...let alone play music well. As he brought the song to a close his mouth drew up in a half smile. It was an expression Iorveth has never seen on his face before. It looked odd. Without his usual frown, he almost looked passably attractive...for a dh’oine. 

Iorveth shivered at that last thought. What on earth was he thinking? He was still furious and confused. Why had Roche been watching him? Why had he lied about it to his own second in command? There must be a reason, and he was going to find it.

Roche stopped to quickly tune the instrument. He then tucked it back carefully back under his chin and began to play a different tune. The beginning consisted of several long notes and then a pause, repeating until it built up into the song more fully. It had a sad lilting sound to it, very different from most of the elven music Iorveth had heard. It was almost beautiful. As he played Roche began to sing quietly, his voice surprisingly soft and tuneful.

_ So long my friend _

_ There must always be an end _

_ But all our love and life _

_ And song carries on _

_ I carry it on, now the spirits _

_ Are guiding you into the sky _

_ And the spirits are claiming you _

_ Away from us, over the edge of the world _

_ The edge of the world, over the edge _

_ But I carry you on, I carry you on _

_ And I carry on _

As he sang Roche’s face changed, he looked sadder now, like there was a great weight being placed on his shoulders. Iorveth just watched him, fascinated. When Roche finished he lowered the instrument and sat in silence for a while. Before he could continue playing they both heard a loud bang from the camp accompanied by copious amounts of particularly colourful cursing. Roche’s attention snapped towards the camp and he quickly packed away the instrument and headed back to camp.

“What in ever-living fuck was that? Can I not leave you idiots alone for more than five minutes?” Roche’s shouting faded off as he went back to the camp. 

Iorveth stayed frozen where he was. He couldn’t quite comprehend what he had just witnessed and the strange feelings it was producing in him. He stayed in place for several long minutes trying to decide between continuing to spy on Roche or heading back to his own camp while luck was still with him. He decided to return. He could always come back tomorrow to investigate further.

-

##  VI

Iorveth returned the next day, and the next, and the one after that. He was determined to figure this puzzle out. It was a dangerous game but it was good intel even outside of his determination to figure out Roche’s motives for watching him. 

Every day around the same time Roche would collect the instrument, a vielle if his hearing served him correctly, and went to sit on the stump to play. He mostly ran through various drinking songs and jigs, but every so often he would play something slower and more beautiful. 

Iorveth was fascinated. He wasn’t quite sure why watching the dh’oine play intrigued him so, but it did. His mind often drifted back to the song he overheard the first time he spied on Roche. Something about hearing him so openly mourn did something to him. Maybe it was vindication that this despicable dh’oine also suffered; that he also had to feel the loss of soldiers, friends, under his command. But, he sort of knew that that wasn’t quite it. It was watching a fellow commander and a fellow musician. Watching him take the same time out from his duties that Iorveth did. That he also needed that time and space to get his thoughts together. A place he could mourn or rage or just simply get away from it all for a while. A space to lose himself in his music.

However, a few weeks in, something happened that changed it all. Iorveth had placed himself in his usual spot to watch him play. This time Roche had brought a notebook with him. Instead of just playing songs he already knew he started composing.

Iorveth watched, fascinated. Being able to witness someone else's process was captivating. Roche played around with the tune first. It was quiet and melodic, plodding on with a steady rhythm like a heartbeat at rest. Once he was happy with it he started humming along with the tune, he was frowning again but this time it was clear he was deep in thought. He started to write in his notebook, counting out the beats and putting words to them. Once he was happy he tried singing them along with the tune.

_ It’s the 12th century,  _

_ And a king says come to war with me _

_ And never mind thou shalt not kill,  _

_ We're dealing now with infidels _

_ He raises high his sword and then  _

_ He charges forth with all his men _

_ And with the blessing of our royalty,  _

_ In a righteous tongue we scream _

_ The ends, they justify the means, my friends _

_ Oh the ends, they justify the means _

The words made Iorveth’s blood run cold. They were sung so softly that they seemed almost harmless. In his fascination, he had almost forgotten who exactly he was watching. This bastard had killed so many of his kind for nothing more than loyalty to a bloodthirsty king. Iorveth felt his face heat as he quietly seethed. There was something else though, something about it that sat strangely with him. The last two lines; they stuck out to him. They were...relatable. How many times had Iorveth told himself the exact same thing? Far too many to be comfortable, if he was completely honest with himself.

As Iorveth stewed with himself, Roche put the notebook away. He started playing, clearly messing around with parts of songs he knew, experimenting and seeing which parts fitted together. 

As he listened there was something that stuck out to him. It sounded almost familiar like he had heard it before. He listened more intently and suddenly realisation washed over him. That was Bonny at Morn. That was an eleven folk song. How the fuck would Vernon fucking Roche know an eleven folk song...unless. He thought back over the various times he had been at his waterfall. Had he played that song? He was pretty sure he had...the day he had bathed in the pool. A horrible cold feeling settled over him. Had Roche been there? Been there while he had been naked? Watching him? Iorveth shivered at the thought. He felt violated all over again. A horrible thought came to him if he’s been there then...had he been there when… Rage boiled viciously within him. Vernon Roche would not get away with this.

Iorveth turned and headed back towards his waterfall, deliberately snapping a twig loudly as he went. He didn’t need to turn to know that Roche had jolted from his playing and looked towards the sound. Iorveth carried on, careful to leave obvious tracks at first. He sped up, going at a well-paced run. Even in his armour, his long elven legs meant he was considerably faster than a human. When he reached the clearing he dropped his bag out of sight after retrieving a couple of lengths of rope. He would have to work quickly if he was going to pull this off.

His heart was pounding. He didn’t have much time to set up a trap. In his rage, he hadn’t really thought this through. However, it was already set in motion, so all he could do was carry on. He looped one rope into a large snare and placed it on the ground near where he had seen Roche hiding before. He quickly and carefully covered it with leaves and sticks from the forest floor. Hopefully, Roche wouldn’t notice for he didn't have the sharp nose of a rabbit.

Once it was set Iorveth quickly climbed up one of the nearby willows and waited with one end of the snare in his hand and the other length of rope coiled over his shoulder. He did not have to wait long. Roche had followed him. The commander looked around warily. Clearly trying to see if Iorveth was here. He edged quietly forward, clearly knowing where best to hide. A fresh wave of anger crashed over Iorveth. He would make the dh’oine pay.

He waited, watching Roche’s every movement carefully, every inch the predator. Roche moved forward quietly and slowly until he was standing in the middle of the snare. Iorveth pulled it taught, the loop closed around Roche’s ankles and dragged him backwards. He crashed face-first onto the forest floor with an undignified yelp. Iorveth wasted no time, he leapt down from his perch and pinned Roche to the floor. He grabbed his hands roughly and pinned them behind his back. Using the second rope he started binding Roche’s wrists behind his back. Roche, still dazed from smacking his face on the floor, started groaning and struggling. Unfortunately for him, far too late to get out of Iorveth’s hold.

Once Roche’s wrists were bound, Iorveth stood up, yanking Roche up by his hair. He looped the rest of the rope around his chest, firmly pinning his arms to his side. He flung him back to the floor. Roche let out a dazed gasp, he was clearly still reeling from the hit to his head. Iorveth grabbed the rope that was binding Roche’s ankles, looped it around a few more times for good measure then set off for the centre of the clearing, dragging Roche by his ankles.

Iorveth reached the middle of the clearing and dropped Roche’s legs roughly. He turned around, fury rising in him as he looked at his captive. Roche looked dazed, his nose was leaking a small trickle of blood and his chaperone had been pulled off his head so it hung half off one shoulder. As Iorveth looked at him he realised he had never seen the dh’oine’s hair. It was a reddish-brown, short at the back and sides with a bit more length on top. The longer parts had a definite curl to them. Iorveth wasn’t sure why seeing the dh’oine’s hair threw him, but it did. Perhaps it was seeing him actually vulnerable for the first time since they’d met in battle. Iorveth stared down at him for several long moments, chest heaving. What did he even want to say or do now? Now that he had him?

“Fuck.” Roche grunted, clearly coming back to his senses.

“Why have you been watching me?” The words tumbled out of Iorveth’s mouth before he had a chance to think them over. Roche noticeably stiffened, but he looked up at Iorveth defiantly.

“You’re the leader of the Scoia’tael. It’s my job to keep tabs on you.” Roche replied clearly trying to keep his voice even. This answer just infuriated Iorveth.

“It is your job to kill me dh’oine. You could have easily killed me. Instead, you watch me then lie to your own second in command about it. Why would you do that?” Iorveth hissed. Roche looked away squirming in his bindings. 

“I...I didn’t want to kill you before finding out more intel.” Roche’s response clearly sounded unconvincing even to the dh’oine’s own ears. Iorveth bent down closer to him.

“You watched me bathe.” he spat right in Roche’s face. Roche’s face drained of colour and then promptly flushed red. Iorveth had him now.

“I...I didn’t look. When you...I didn’t look.” Roche spluttered clearly at a loss for how to defend himself.

“The question is dh’oine, why were you there at all?” Iorveth growled. Roche stared back at him for several moments and then his expression changed. He had realised something.

“Why didn’t you try to kill  _ me _ ? I was there alone you could have easily.” Roche asked defiantly. 

“I didn’t know you were there. At least not then.” Iorveth blurts out without thinking.

“Then how do you know I was? Wait...how do you know I lied to Ves about where I was.” Roche asks, arching an eyebrow. It was Iorveth’s turn to flush. 

“Answer the question, dh’oine. Why were you here? How did you even find it?” he snarled in response, placing his hand threateningly around Roche’s throat. Roche tried to wriggle out of Iorveth’s grasp with little success. Iorveth tightened his grip, putting just enough pressure there to slow blood flow. Roche’s movements began to slow and his eyes bulged with the barest hint of panic. “Tell me or I kill you right here and leave your body to the creatures of the forest to tear to shreds.”

“I f...found it while scouting a few months ago. I heard you playing.” Roche gasped. Iorveth loosened his grip slightly. Months ago?

“Why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you come back?” Iorveth demanded, these questions had haunted him for the past few weeks. Roche remained silent, his face twisted in an odd expression. Was that shame he could see? Iorveth tightened his grip once more. “Answer me.”

“I wanted to, to kill you, but it felt unfair.” he gritted out.

“Unfair? Since when do dh’oine care about unfair?” Iorveth asked incredulously, loosening his grip almost entirely.

“When I kill you, I want it to be in battle so that we both know who is the superior soldier.” Roche replied defiantly, staring straight into Iorveth’s eye. Then quick as a flash, he lunged forward and sank his teeth into the elf’s forearm. 

Iorveth yelped at the sudden pain but recovered quickly. There is no way he was letting the dh’oine get the best of him. He struck out with his other hand and dealt a hard smack to the side of Roche’s face. Roche grunted at the hit and released Iorveth’s arm from his teeth. He had managed to break the skin, blood was welling up from the dh’oine’s teeth marks. Iorveth cursed loudly and looked back at Roche, who now had blood staining his lips. Iorveth struck him with the back of his hand in retaliation. Roche grunted and fell sideways with the force of the hit. They both remained still for several minutes panting and staring defiantly at the other.

“Why did you come back?” Iorveth asked again, though his voice had lost its ferocity.

“As I said to keep tabs on you.” Roche was beginning to flush again.

“We both know that isn’t true. You watched me bathe you dh’oine pervert. Also if you were ‘gathering intel’ why would you lie to your own about being here?” Iorveth crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at Roche tied up on the floor. 

“How do you know about that?” Roche asked, there was an edge to his voice.

“When I first saw you here, I followed you.” Iorveth replied he could tell that the dh’oine clearly felt guilty about lying to his own second in command.

“That was...weeks ago...how come you are only confronting me now? And another thing, how  _ do _ you even know that I watched you bathe? You still haven't answered that.” Iorveth flushed at that. How was the dh’oine acting like he was the interrogator when he was the one tied up on the floor. He felt rage swell in his chest.

“I heard you...you were playing elven music. Music I had been playing...that day. How else could you have known that song?” he snarled. Part of him was still furious at the thought of a dh’oine such as Vernon Roche playing the music of his people. Vernon’s face paled, was that shame Iorveth could see there? The look only lasted a few seconds before a look of realisation crossed his face.

“You have been watching me too, haven’t you?” Roche asked, looking up at Iorveth with curiosity. 

“Only because you were watching me!” Iorveth spat back petulantly before realising how that sounded. He huffed and looked away from Roche. “Why did you keep coming back?” he asked in a quieter voice. Roche looked uncomfortable.

“Honestly, I don’t really know. Curiosity I guess?” Roche replied with a sigh.

“Curiosity about what?” Iroveth asked, an edge to his voice. He hated being seen as a curiosity.

“You, your music...I don’t know. It was strange seeing you outside of a fight, outside of the Scoia’tael.” Iorveth didn’t know how to take Roche’s words. The honesty in them made him uncomfortable. Hadn’t he had similar feelings watching Roche?

“You messed up the second verse.” The words seemed to just fall out of Iorveth's mouth. 

“What do you mean?” Roche looked up at him with confusion.

“You were in the wrong key.” Iorveth replied haughtily. Roche snorted a low laugh.

“Well I only heard it once.” he scoffed in reply.

“You should never have heard it at all.” Iorveth said pointedly. Roch flinched in response.

“I’m sorry.” Roche said quietly. Iorveth’s face twisted in confusion.

“For what dh’oine?”

“For watching you bathe...I mean I didn’t look, but...it was still private, not just the bathing...but this whole place. I shouldn’t have...invaded your privacy.” Roche looked away as he said it. Iorveth felt a strange knot of feelings. Vernon Roche, of all people, apologising to him. Something about it warmed something in him but at the same time caused his rage to flare once more. How could this man persecute Iorveth’s people on the one hand and then apologise to Iorveth for not respecting his privacy on the other. 

“Since when do dh’oine care about not invading elves' privacy. Isn’t that all you do? Invade.” Iorveth spat back.

“I’m not a monster.” Roche said a note of defensiveness in his voice. Iorveth moved closer again, pulling Roche by his bindings so they were nose to nose. 

“Aren’t you?” Iorveth asked as he reached into his belt and took out his dagger. He slipped it round Roche’s back and used it to cut open the knot securing Roche’s wrists. It was not enough to immediately release him but enough that Roche would be able to struggle free. With that Iorveth dropped Roche back to the ground. He backed off to the face of the waterfall and scaled it with ease. He looked back when he reached the top. Roche had freed himself from the wrist and chest bindings and was staring after Iorveth. Iorveth turned away and melted into the forest, a strange and terrible mix of emotions tugging at his chest.

-

##  VII

Roche’s childhood had been difficult. Being the son of whore was a difficult one. The way most of society saw him and his Ma meant that they were often met with derision or scorn. They got by, they had each other, they had music. Roche never made many friends, most children couldn’t or weren't allowed to see past his parentage. It meant his childhood was often lonely, but Roche found ways to keep himself entertained. Outside of his music, he loved watching people. He was often ignored and not noticed, so it was easy for him to watch people’s lives and interactions play out. Through his observations he learned the ways of people, he could easily see their fears and desires layed out and how these motivated them to behave in certain ways. It also gave him good insights into what was going on in their lives. There were not many secrets in his part of town that Roche did not know. As he grew older he found he could leverage these to help himself and his Ma get by.

One such time, Roche had been concerned for his Ma and the other women that lived in the brothel. There was a local protection racket that was trying to extort money from the madam and they had threatened the women working there. Roche was too young and scrawny to face up to the men in a fight. A fact that burned shame straight through him. He had agonised about what he could do to protect his Ma and their friends. He might not be able to fight them but maybe there was something even a scrawny boy like him could do. He took to following the men from the racket around collecting information. Eventually, he found exactly the kind of thing he was looking for, he overheard them talking about transporting stolen goods. 

Roche knew he had to play this carefully. The Vizima Guard could be fickle and unpredictable. He approached one of the older guards the day after getting the information. He took on all he had learned from all those years of watching people. He kept his head up and his gaze strong as he told the Guard he had some information. The Guard raised an eyebrow at him and told him to continue. Roche then told him his price, the safety of his Ma and the place they lived. The older man looked down at him, his lips twitching in a smile. He said that Roche and his Ma would stay safe if Roche would be willing to give the Guard of Vizima tips. Roche looked the man dead in the eye and agreed his terms. 

He soon became an invaluable informant to the guard. He was their first port of call if they wanted to know about anything going on in Roche’s part of town. It gave Roche a quiet sense of pride, he was both protecting the ones he loved and was actually good at something. His Ma had mixed feelings about his work, she very much believed in honour amongst thieves and that being a “snitch” was dishonourable. It hurt Roche to think about, but he didn’t share her view. He had no loyalty to the people who would happily spit on them both and call them whore and whoreson. As far as he was concerned, the lives and happiness of those close to him were what mattered. If those idiots broke the law then it was their own problem, if they didn’t break the law then Roche would have nothing to tell the Guard.

This went on for several years. Roche struggled to find work by normal means. His reputation as a whoreson barred him from most legitimate lines of work and his reputation as a snitch limited the illegitimate ones. Mostly Roche found odd jobs and managed to earn a reputation in the bare-knuckle fighting ring. His reputation meant he was never short of people willing to try and punch his surprisingly handsome face. Roche had filled out significantly since his early adolescence but he was still not particularly tall. He learnt to fight with skill and cleverness rather than brute force. He won more than he lost and that was enough for Roche. He also occasionally dabbled in his Ma’s line of work. His Ma had raised him without prejudice and shame around sexuality and work. He took her advice to heart.

“If you think myself or any woman here ‘sell their bodies’, but miners and farmers do not, then your view of labour is clouded by a moralistic view of sexuality. If you are willing to sell your body to toil in a mine or a field how is it any different to sell your body for pleasure?” she would tell him.

If Roche was honest he didn’t see much difference in it himself. He sold his body to do menial tasks for those around him, he sold his body to be beaten for the entertainment of others. Selling his body for sex was often much more fun than either of those. It also afforded him better opportunities to gather information. Peoples lips were loose in the throes of passion. 

It was during one such encounter that Roche would discover the piece of information that would change the course of the rest of his life. It had been after one of his fights, a man from the crowd had sought him out after and signalled his interest. Apparently, this man liked his men fresh and bloody from a fight. Who was Roche to complain? He had plenty of excess energy from his recent victory to work off. They had agreed on the coin and departed to a nearby secluded alley to complete their tussle. When they were done Roche’s mouth had the bitter taste of spend to join the blood from his split lip. The man tossed him some coins and left around the corner. Roche got up and wiped his mouth slowly. He paused as he heard a noise that piqued his interest. The sound of the man who had just left being stopped by another. They were having the type of hurried conversation in lowered voices that made Roche’s ears prick up. He moved closer and stiffened at what he overheard. He stayed still and silent. If the man remembered he was here then he didn’t think he would survive long enough to tell even his Ma.

Once he was sure the men were gone. He left immediately to find one of his contacts in the Guard, they needed to know this and fast. When he finally found one of them he was flushed and out of breath. 

“There is a plot. A plot to assassinate the King.” he gritted out between breaths. He told them everything he knew, leaving out the precise circumstances as to how he knew. The guard he spoke to, interestingly the very same guard he had spoken to the first time he had come, clapped him on the shoulder and told him he had done a great service for Temaria. 

By morning the whole plot had been exposed and was the talk of the town. It all felt a bit surreal. Roche had caught his Ma up on the night's events over tea in her rooms. He was just about to head out for one of his odd jobs when the knock at the door came. The guard from the previous night was there.

“Your presence has been requested, lad, by the King himself. His Majesty thinks there may be a job for you in his service.” the guard announced with a wide grin. Roche still remembers that moment vividly even to this day. 

When he had met the King, he had been internally awestruck but remembered the lessons he had learned from watching people all through his childhood. He projected quiet, respectful confidence, head up, shoulders relaxed. He looked into his King’s eyes without fear. 

The King was magnificent, sat on his throne, projecting power and confidence in a way other men could only dream of. 

“You demonstrated great loyalty last night, boy. Loyalty not everyone from your station would demonstrate. In Temeria, in my court, loyalty is rewarded.” Roche flushed at the praise. This man could have easily cast him away as a whoreson, beneath him, but he had seen and recognised something worthwhile in Roche. Few ever saw anything worthwhile in him beyond his own Ma. It was a strange and addictive feeling. He would do everything in his power live up to that, he would make his king proud. He knew then that he would follow this man until his dying day. 

-

Roche had spent the days following his altercation with Iorveth in inner turmoil. He just couldn’t get the elf out of his head. Many of the things he’d said had struck Roche. He couldn’t get it out of his head that the elf had spent time watching him too. That Iorveth had watched him play. It gave him an uncomfortable kind of thrill. However, he also knew that he was playing a dangerous game. It was bad enough when he had just been watching Iorveth instead of killing him, but now Iorveth knew. His enemy had something over him.

He tried desperately to forget about the whole ordeal and pretend it never happened, but it kept bubbling up to the surface. Images of Iorveth plagued his dreams: flashes of his soft peaceful face, him sat at the top of the waterfall without his armour, him laid back on the rock playing his flute. Sometimes he would even get flashes of Iorveth’s graceful naked frame, all lithe muscle and sun-darkened skin. These dreams in particular made him uncomfortable. 

Iorveth kept appearing in his music too, whenever Roche practised he inexplicably ended up playing the snippet of Iorveth’s song. After a while he just gave up trying to play anything else, desperately trying to get it right from memory. 

The last few weeks had been hard work. The Blue Stripes, still mourning their loss, had been starting to get restless. They hadn’t had any news of Scoia’tael activity and this meant boredom. If Roche had to separate one more fistfight over a petty disagreement or put a lid on one more dangerous idea for a prank then he might just go insane. He longed for the peace of the clearing. He had never longed for such a thing in his life, but now he knew that kind of peace was possible, he missed it with a deep ache in his chest. 

After several days at war with himself, Roche felt so tightly wound that he knew he had to do something. He just needed to get the feeling out of his system. He knew going back there was a terrible idea, but surely being this tightly wound and distracted was worse for his squad, right? 

He decided to go one afternoon under the guise of scouting. As he was leaving a thought struck him, he ducked back inside and grabbed his vielle case. He headed off down the now familiar path along the banks of the stream. When he eventually reached the clearing he found it empty. He was uncomfortable with how disappointed he felt by this. 

He looked out over the clearing for a moment before he decided to just go with it. He walked out into the clearing, it felt strange after hiding so long to just walk out there, but here he was. He sat on the large flat rock he had seen Iorveth sit on many times and got out his vielle. He ran his fingers over it and began to carefully tune it.

Once completed, Roche started playing around with snippets of different tunes he knew. He got lost in the playing, as he often did, feeling all the vibrations over his skin as though they were delicate touches. After a while, however, he ended up back on Iorveth’s song. It had become such a habit to do repetitions of the snippets he could remember that he barely even thought about it. He was just about to begin his third run-through of the bits he knew. 

“Still in the wrong key.” A snarky voice cut through the peace of the clearing like a knife. Roche jumped out of his almost trance-like state and looked up, following the source of the voice. Iorveth sat casually at the top of the waterfall watching him intently.

“Well, why don’t you show me the right one?” Roche replied, a challenging smirk tugging at his lips. A warmth spread through his chest at seeing the elf. He didn’t want to think about why too much.

“And teach a dh’oine to play the music of my people? I don’t think so.” The elf rolled his eyes and snorted.

“Sounds to me like you’re scared to play it. Have you ever considered that maybe I am in the right key and you have been playing it wrong all these years?” Roche looked up at him grinning. Iorveth spluttered and looked more offended than Roche had ever seen him. It was such a thrill to rile the elf up like this.

“Fuck you, dh’oine. Your kind always were arrogant enough to think themselves right even in the depths of idiocy.” Iorveth replied haughtily. 

“Or you just know you’re wrong and don’t want to admit it. Go on...prove me wrong.” Roche goaded with a grin. Iorveth huffed indignantly and pulled out his flute. He began to play, the notes flowing with expert ease. Roche hadn’t realised how much he had missed hearing Iorveth play over the last few weeks. He lowered his vielle and listened intently. Iorveth was right of course, he had been playing in the wrong key. 

As Iorveth played he seemed to relax and that soft expression that had been haunting Roche returned. Roche stared at him transfixed. When Iorveth finished playing he looked down at Roche and took in his expression with surprise.

“No need to look at me like an adoring puppy, dh’oine. You should already know that I am the superior musician.” Iorveth scoffed.

“Try me. Play it again, I can keep up with you.” Roche replied, raising his vielle again.

“I very much doubt it.” Iorveth said derisively but raised the flute to his lips all the same. He began the song again. This time Roche joined him, in the right key this time. The sound of the two instruments playing together complemented each other surprisingly well. The flute gave his vielle a greater sense of volume and power and the sound of his vielle gave the flute a beautiful mellowness it did not have before. Roche was enchanted by the sound as they continued to play together. As the notes combined together he could almost feel it across his skin, the sensation gave him chills. He hadn’t had the opportunity to play with other musicians that often, mostly just hastily put together groups in taverns when they were all flushed from too much ale. Those times were fun but nothing like this. Roche couldn’t quite explain it, but this was different. The two instruments seemed to go together in a way that Roche did not expect. He found it thrilling and confusing all at the same time. 

When the song came to an end, their last notes ringing into the silence both of them paused. Roche wondered if Iorveth had felt it too. He lowered the vielle and looked up at the elf sitting above him. Iorveth was looking down at him, a look of quiet surprise across his face. He lowered his flute slowly, seeming unable to find words. 

“That was…” Roche started.

“Adequate.” Iorveth cut him off. The elf got to his feet, he looked shaken. “You were lucky you were in the right key that time.” With that he melted back into the forest and Roche was left feeling strangely bereft. 

-

##  VIII

Iorveth’s life as an adolescent had been a mixture of travel, parties and music... right up until he met Adhamh. It was at a party he had been asked to play. It was a more noble affair than the usual parties he got invited to. It was thrilling to see the looks of both wonder and mild offence his performance roused in these high born elves. After he was done, he went to find a drink and watch the other party-goers go about their revelry. 

“When I heard you were performing, I did wonder if the rumours about you being gaudy baubles over any musical talent were true. It appears that your style is rather more prevalent than your substance.” Iorveth turned to see a haughty looking elf. He had the fine cheekbones and fair hair of a high born elf. He wore fine robes and had a harp case thrown casually over one shoulder; a musician then. Iorveth loved this particular type of critic. Iorveth knew he was good, really he had no need to prove himself, but it didn’t stop making assholes like this eat their words being a joy. Iorveth lent back against the wall giving the other elf a very obvious look over. He then looked up at him through his thick eyelashes, a move he knew many found irresistible. The other elf’s lip twitched, clearly not used to this kind of inspection.

“If you truly believe me to be more stylish than talented, by all means, challenge me. You chose me an instrument and I will demonstrate my prowess against yours. Unless you are all talk and no bite?” His smile twisted up into a flirtatious smirk. The other elf spluttered and then regained his composure. 

“A musician such as myself does not need bite, for _ I _ am not a dog. How about instead of such a common instrument as a flute you try and prove yourself on an instrument of a master, such as a harp.” The elf tried to stare him down. Iorveth laughed internally; he had hoped his adversary would make this choice.

“That sounds like a fair wager, I suppose if you see flutes as so lowly you could best me with it. So how about a musical duel of sorts, myself on the harp and yourself on the flute? Surely an easy victory for one such as you?” Iorveth smiled and reached forward a hand to agree to the wager.

“I agree to your terms.” The other elf took his hand and smiled. He opened the case over his shoulder and began tuning the small harp. Iorveth smiled and retrieved his own flute. Once the harp was tuned, they swapped instruments in readiness to play.

“After you, your highness.” Iorveth said sarcastically, indicating that he should begin. The other elf arched an eyebrow and began to play. Iorveth listened for a few seconds and then joined him, matching the key and rhythm the other had set. At first, he kept the plucking simple, like a gentle undercurrent to the flight of the flutes song, but as the song progressed he started with more complicated sequences of notes. He let the soft plucking of the harp blend seamlessly with the delicate notes of the flute. As they played, a small crowd formed around them. Iorveth looked up briefly and caught the other elf looking at him as he played. There was a look of surprise and interest on his features. Iorveth smiled inwardly, he knew his prowess with a harp could be matched by few. Clearly, he had been underestimated.

As their song reached a crescendo Iorveth felt something in his chest, something he had never felt before. He felt so connected to the music between them and something about that almost took his breath away. The song came to a close and he looked back up at the other elf. For a moment they just shared a look, it looked like he had shared Iorveth’s experience. Those around them broke out into applause and gossipy murmurs. 

“I suppose you are fairly proficient on the harp.” the elf conceded with the barest hint of condescension. Iorveth let out a huff of a laugh.

“I guess your lips are not so tired from kissing the nobility's ass that you can actually play the flute rather nicely.” Iorveth winked at him and took his flute from the other elf’s hands. The look of shock and offence on his face was deeply satisfying. Iorveth walked away with a smile pulling at his lips. 

Iorveth thought that would be the last we would hear of him. However, a week later Iorveth was playing at one of his regular haunts and ran into the elf again. He was mid-performance when he spotted fair hair at the back of the tavern. The elf was watching him curiously. Iorveth pretended to ignore it for the rest of his performance. He deliberately made eye contact with everyone else.

After his performance, Iorveth grabbed himself a drink and went to stand next to the fair-haired elf without looking at him.

“Didn’t think this would be your kind of place?” Iorveth said, taking a sip of his mead.

“It’s not.” the elf replied curtly.

“Then why are you here?” Iorveth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Call it professional curiosity.” 

“You enjoyed playing a duet with me. You can just say it.” Iorveth said cockily. The other elf snorted.

“No. But, you do interest me enough to observe you in your natural habitat.” he replied huffily. 

“I enjoyed playing with you.” Iorveth said sincerely, he deliberately wanted to put the other elf on the back foot. Iorveth turned to look at him, there was a look of surprise and curiosity behind his haughty expression. “Want to play again?” Iorveth asked with his most dashing smile.

“I don’t have my harp with me.” the elf said dismissively.

“I have mine. Are you scared I will show you up again?” Iorveth teased, watching the wound up expressions on the elf’s face gave him such a thrill.

“Not even remotely. Go on, fetch it and prepare to be shown what a true master can do.” The elf turned to face him, his face set in a determined sneer. Iorveth grinned and went to fetch his harp. He headed back up on stage and cleared his throat loudly.

“Tonight it is my pleasure to introduce a special guest who has asked to duet with me. Let me introduce… Hey, what is your name?” he announced loudly to the audience. From across the room, he saw the fair-haired elf’s face twist in surprise and offence. He hadn’t been expecting it to be a performance and had clearly thought that Iorveth knew his name. But, he set his face determinedly and swept up on stage to take the harp.

“I am Adhamh Aaleann, premier harpist in the Bhòidean symphony. Nearly everyone in this room will have heard my name.” As the elf spoke, whispers started to break out across the room. It would seem that he was not wrong in his statement. Iorveth just smiled, winding him up so much fun.

“Ok, Adhamh Aaleann, premier harpist in the Bhòidean symphony. Shall I start this time?” Before Adhamh could reply Iorveth brought his flute to his lips and started playing one of the twists on traditional folk songs that he was renowned for. He wanted to see if the classically trained musician could keep up with him. Adhamh looked flustered momentarily, but he waited listening intently for a few bars before joining in. His mastery of the harp was indeed truly something to behold. He knew just how to improvise to set off Iorveth’s poetic fast-paced flute playing. The agility of his fingers as he plucked beautiful resounding notes was mesmerising. If Iorveth hadn’t been mid-song he would have been utterly lost watching him play. The look on his face of peaceful concentration was quite..beautiful. Iorveth looked away. It would not pay to get distracted during such a challenge. 

As they played Iorveth began improvising, changing from leading the music to using his flute to elevate and lend weight to the glittering flow of the harp. Adhamh picked up on the invitation and almost immediately took the lead. Showing off some more fancy combinations of notes, taking full advantage of the lower notes decay time to layer notes in beautiful and unexpected ways. Iorveth felt the feeling of lightness in his chest again as they played. It was like the rest of the room wasn’t there and they were just playing with each other. Once Adhamh brought the song to a close there was a moment of stunned silence as Adhamh and Iorveth stared at each other before applause broke out. Adhamh placed the harp carefully on the floor, then winked at Iorveth and left without a word. Iorveth watched him leave before his brain caught up. Adhamh was surely one of the finest musicians Iorveth had ever seen. He was enchanted.

Iorveth couldn’t get playing with Adhamh out of his head. He wanted to do it again...and again. He decided to track him down. It wasn’t that hard. He decided to go and watch one of the Bhòidean symphony’s concerts. With his name being well known he was able to get an excellent seat. He spent the whole concert watching Adhamh play. This particular concert centred around two concertos one for the harp and one for the flute. Adhamh was the soloist for the harp concerto. He was playing a full-sized harp this time and the confident clear notes that rang from his fingertips were truly exquisite. 

When the concert was over Iorveth made his way to the high-end tavern next door. It was a popular haunt for the performers and their highborn patrons. He got himself a glass of a very fine red wine. He slipped himself into a seat in the corner to watch.

The performers filtered in slowly. Iorveth enjoyed people watching immensely and they didn’t disappoint. The social hierarchy was clear, all posturing and insincere smiles. When Adhamh finally decided to join them, he looked tired underneath the charming exterior he put on. Iorveth had meant to go over and talk with him immediately, but once he saw him he was too fascinated by watching him. From the outside, the game of social posturing looked exhausting. He watched Adhamh knock back several glasses of wine. Eventually, most of the other performers had either left or filtered off. It was just Adhamh and another fair-haired elf left. Their conversation was quiet, but the tense line across Adhamh’s forehead told Iorveth it wasn’t entirely pleasant. As he watched, the other elf stood and smiled condescendingly before leaving. Adhamh drained his glass, clearly done with whatever that had been about. Iorveth got up and sat at the bar next to Adhamh.

“Two glasses of your finest red if you would?” he asked the barkeep. Adhamh looked up in surprise at Iorveth’s voice. His face brightened and he raised a curious eyebrow at Iorveth.

“Didn’t think this would be your kind of place?” he asked playfully.

“It’s not. Too full of rich snobs like you.” Iorveth returned with a smile, pushing over the second glass of wine the barkeep placed before him.

“I take it you missed me so much you just had to watch me perform?” Adhamh asked with a smirk.

“Honestly, I haven’t been able to get playing with you out of my head.” Iorveth said, holding Adhamh’s gaze. Adhamh looked stunned by the honesty, but smiled and held his gaze.

“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about it.” Adhamh said before looking away and taking a sip of wine.

“How about it then?” Iorveth asked.

“How about what?”

“Perform with me. I know you felt it. We work perfectly together.” Iorveth leaned closer. Adhamh snorted.

“You want me to perform with you instead of with one of the most prestigious orchestras on the continent?” Adhamh asked incredulously.

“I watched you this evening. This orchestra is a pit of vipers. You looked tired and uninspired. You know I could offer you more.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Adhamh raised an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you bored of all the convention and tradition? I can offer you the freedom to play what you want. Aren’t you bored with this stuffy part you have to play? You certainly look bored.” Iorveth pressed.

“Look, Iorveth, honestly I admire you and the whole...performance you do. Really it is something. But really, I am ok with the part I play. So, thanks, but no.” Adhamh turned his gaze away and took a long sip on his wine. He was truly beautiful, Iorveth could feel the warm buzz of the wine loosen his inhibitions.

“Is this really how you want to spend the whole of your career? Drowning in wine with highborn vipers who would rather cut you down than see your music flourish?” Iorveth asked, he hadn’t even seen much of the inner workings of the orchestra but even he could see how it worked.

“Can’t you see that I am at the top of my career? If I went off with you to perform in lowly taverns and at parties. I would be laughed at and disowned.” Adhamh snorted.

“So? You could finally have a little fun. You know we would be a success. The pair of us have more talent and flair then the whole orchestra combined.” Iorveth said, reaching out and holding Adhamh’s shoulder. They were very close now. Adhamh took in a shaky breath as he looked deep into Iorveth’s eyes. A moment passed where they simply looked into each other’s eyes. Adhamh licked his lips. They were such beautiful cupid bow lips, Iorveth caught himself staring.

“Ok...I am intrigued.” Adhamh admitted. Iorveth smiled, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Adhamh let out a startled whimper. Iorveth pulled back with a smile. Fuck, his lips were soft and lovely.

“Come find me tomorrow. Same place as last time. We’ll talk terms then.” Iorveth stood and left with a flourish of a bow. 

Adhamh came to meet him the following day and that was how their partnership began. Their act was like nothing anyone had seen before, a flamboyant street musician alongside a classically trained harpist. Their duets were beautiful fusions of their different styles. They quickly became a sensation. As predicted, Adhamh was quickly thrown out of the orchestra for his association with Iorveth. He said he didn’t care but Iorveth could see the pain of it in his eyes. He had hoped it would fade in time.

As their partnership in music began so did their romance. It was fierce and passionate much like their music. Iorveth, despite his good looks, had only bed one person before Adhamh. Their lovemaking was a revelation. He had never felt his body be known in the way it felt known under Adhamh’s touch. He couldn’t get enough, he felt like everything he’d ever wanted had just fallen into place. It was beautiful and wonderful but ultimately, as Iorveth would learn several times in his life, beautiful and wonderful things didn’t last.

It happened slowly and quietly. Adhamh seemed restless, then irritable, then distant. Iorveth didn’t know what was wrong or how to pull him back. They began to argue. At first, the arguments seemed to draw on the passion and fierceness from early in their relationship. The making up would feel like a new lease of life every time, but even that did not last.

Finally, Adhamh came to him and told him that his Father had pulled some strings and got him a place in an orchestra in a city on the other side of the Continent. They argued that night, Iorveth knew this was Adhamh leaving him, choosing his old life over the new life he had built with Iorveth. Adhamh called their time together ‘a phase’ and ‘an experiment that had failed’. Iorveth remembered Adhamh referring to him as a ‘curiosity’ on their second meeting. His anger boiled as the fair-haired elf walked out of his life. He felt betrayed and toyed with. He vowed that day to never to duet with anyone again. From now on, it was him and his music alone until the end of time. At the time, Iorvceth had felt that this heartbreak was the most unimaginable pain he could ever know.

Iorveth now knew his younger self was an overdramatic fool. Only a few years after Adhamh’s departure came the fateful Conjunction of the Spheres, and with it, the course of his life was changed forever. 

-

Iorveth was fed up. After the loss of two of the elves in his unit he knew he had to be more careful. There was clearly someone giving the Blue Stripes intel on their whereabouts. He had decided to keep their activities to stealing provisions for the time being. But long periods of time with not much to do made him and the rest of the elves restless. He had tried to keep them occupied by getting them to improve some of the structures around camp. Ciaren and Ky got stuck in but the others' involvement was a bit half-hearted.

Sylver and Taredd had been the most trouble, the pair of them had taken to slow-down in activity as an excuse to start various homebrewing experiments, including drinking copious amounts of their creations. These had varying levels of success, depending on how much the pair had been drinking. If Iorveth heard them explode one more attempt, he was tempted to bang their heads together. Admittedly the blackberry melomel they were making did smell wonderful even though it was still fermenting. 

Iorveth longed to go back to his waterfall just to get some peace. Without it, he found himself getting progressively more tightly wound. The last time he had gone there had been the final nail in the coffin. The whole bizarre chain of events with Vernon Roche had been confusing to begin with, but their last interaction had been even more bizarre. 

Having Roche stare up at him in barely concealed adoration when he had played had been a strange feeling. He had felt uncomfortably seen. Then playing together had been...something else. It has been several centuries since Iorveth had played with someone else. He had forgotten what it was like when it was right. Strings and wind instruments often made excellent pairings. Playing and feeling each of them uplift the other in the song had been exhilarating, up until the point he remembered it was Vernon fucking Roche. A man who represented everything Iorveth fought against. He was the face of the oppression of his people. He should have killed him on sight, not played a duet with him. What had he been thinking? How many elves had that man killed? How many times had his actions pushed his people further towards extinction? 

He couldn’t go back there now, he couldn’t trust himself. He knew he was drawn to the dh’oine in some sick way. Drawn to something he could not quite put his finger on. Was it just the music? Or something else? Iorveth still struggled to get his head around how the man had watched him for weeks and not taken the opportunity to kill him. He had always seemed so bloodthirsty whenever Iorveth had come across him in a fight. The man had even tried to apologise for invading his privacy. How did that fit into him being Foltest’s favourite attack dog? It didn’t, and the fact that it didn’t was nagging at Iorveth. Was his behaviour some sick joke to destabilise the Scoia’tael? It seemed far fetched and unlikely, surely they would just kill him. But, there was no better explanation he could think of. This was exactly why he could never go back. He couldn’t risk that this was some way to get to him, but not knowing was slowly driving him insane. 

It wasn’t helped by the fact that the one place he could go to think out a problem such as this was at the root of this situation. Being a Scoia’tael commander was hard work at the best of times, Iorveth needed time alone to manage that weight effectively. He tried to keep himself busy so he didn’t dwell on it too long. He played endless games of chess with Maeral. After around their 20th game, he was starting to win occasionally. He felt quietly proud of this achievement. In the evenings he took to smoking pipes with Imadia. They often smoked together but this evening ritual was beginning to grow on Iorveth. The older elf was so laid back and no-nonsense that it made a nice break to dealing with Sylvar and Taredd all day. Rinn joined them sometimes, sitting on the floor and listening intently to their conversations about the ‘good old days’. 

One night he sat with her after a particularly trying day. He’d got himself particularly worked up about trying to figure out the Roche situation. He’d been snappy at almost everyone that had crossed his path that day, even Ciaren. Imadia gave him a long look and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What’s eating you?” she asked.

“Nothing.” he replied, looking away.

“You have been in a fouler than usual mood today.” Imadia said pointedly.

“What do you mean fouler than usual? I am a constant delight.” he tried to deflect the question with his usual sarcasm. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he absolutely did not want to talk about this problem with her or anybody else for that matter. 

“Suit yourself.” she responded, giving him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing. “But, you keep yourself bottled up like that and you are going to explode worse than Taredd and Sylvar’s last attempt at beer, and we both know that was not a fun job to clean up.” She sat back in her chair as she spoke, pointing the end of the pipe at him for emphasis. Iorveth shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and remained silent for a good while before letting out a long sigh.

“Something’s...bothering me.” he admitted.

“You going to tell me what?” 

“No.”

“Well, that’s helpful. Shall I just give you random pieces of my wisdom until one of them is the answer you’re looking for? Might take a while, but we do have all night.” She gives him a look that told him she was willing to indulge this bit longer than he would have the patience to endure it. “Hmm let’s see what was it my Mother used to say? He who has no faults is not born. How about that? Does that help?”

Iorveth gave her a mock bored look, he would at least make her work for it.

“No? What about: every bird relishes his own voice. Definitely know that one applies to you.” Imadia was well into the wind up now.

Iorveth snorted derisively, trying to keep a smirk from his face.

“Oh, now how about: better educated than wealthy. My Uncle was fairly fond of that one. Ooh I have got one.” She sat up and took a long draw on the pipe. “Those who fail to take care of themselves before caring for others will fail at both.” 

Iorveth looked away from her. There was something about the last saying that made him feel uncomfortable.

“Was I close?” she crowed, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling.

“No.” he replied, not quite looking at her.

“You can have things for yourself you know. Not everything has to be about the Scoia'tael.” As she said this she tapped out the pipe and packed it again before passing it to Iorveth.

“Heresy.” he responded with an amused raise of an eyebrow. He took the pipe and lit it. He took a deep hit and felt a prickle of relaxation spread through his bones. His mind got the pleasant hazy buzz that the pipeweed provided. “What if...what if what I want could be dangerous?” he said eventually, trying his best to be vague. 

“Answer me one question?” Imadia asked.

“Go ahead, Old One.” Iorveth replied, taking another hit from the pipe.

“Do you trust yourself to be able to handle what would happen if it were to go wrong?” she asked, looking him in the eye directly. It was not the question Iorveth expected. He considered it for a long time. Did he trust himself? He was only risking himself by going back, no one else would be with him. Even if Roche did turn on him, he was sure he could handle the dh’oine. 

“I think so…” he said carefully.

“Then surely that is all the answer you need. Sometimes risk is worth the reward. But, you must be prepared for the consequences.” she smiled at him.

“When did you get so wise?” Iorveth smiled back before taking another deep pull on the pipe.

“Around my tenth century as I recall.” she replied good-humouredly. 

-

Several days later Iorveth decided to go back to his waterfall. It didn’t matter if Roche was there or not, he needed a place to think. If Roche happened to be there...then that was just fate. He walked the long path towards the waterfall. He was hoping this would help him feel lighter but instead every step felt heavy. He could feel his own anticipation rise with every step closer. Was he actually hoping Roche would be there? He tried to push the feeling down. He only wanted answers, not to see the dh’oine.

As he drew closer all he could hear was the sounds of the waterfall and birds. He felt something in his chest sink in disappointment, but he pushed it away almost immediately. This was good, better even, he had the place to himself. He was just getting to the edge of the waterfall when a noise made him jump so much he nearly lost his footing. It was a groan followed by some loud cursing. Iorveth knew that voice. Something lightened in his chest, was that Vernon Roche in pain? He looked over the top of the waterfall and saw Roche sat at the edge of the clearing inspecting a very sizable gash on his leg. 

Iorveth looked down at him, the gash was serious enough to need stitches and would probably make it hard to walk. Roche was inspecting it with a grim look, he must have only recently acquired the injury. 

“Well if this isn’t evidence of the spectacular elegance of the dh’oine.” Iorveth said sarcastically, enjoying how Roche jumped at the sound of his voice. He looked up and saw Iorveth at the top of the waterfall.

“Oh fuck you.” Roche snapped back, but not with as much bite as Iorveth would have expected. The wound probably hurt quite considerably. Iorveth slipped easily down the waterfall’s edge, landing gracefully on the large flat rock. He walked slowly closer, eyeing up the wound. It looked nastier closer up. Roche was quite pale now that Iorveth was closer. 

“You got a medical kit?” Iorveth asked.

“No.” Roche gritted out. Iorveth shook his head in mock dismay.

“Fancy one of the great commanders of the Temerian special forces being caught underprepared.” Iorveth smirked at him.

“If you have just come to gloat elf, kindly fuck off.” Roche growled back. Iorveth held his hands out in a mock show of calming the dh’oine down. He then untied one of the pouches from his belt.

“The Scoia’tael are always prepared.” he said with a smile. 

“Prepared to get injured? Yeah, I can see that.” Roche grunts back half-heartedly.

“If you want help dh’oine I would change that tone.” Iorveth scoffed, kneeling to look closer. “Can you stand? Be easier to clean it nearer the water.” Roche looked up at him with a frown.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked bluntly.

“Because dying of an easily treatable infection would be a pathetic way for my enemy to die. Now, can you stand alone or do you need my help?” Iorveth replied. Roche looked at him searchingly, he clearly did not fully trust the offer of help.

“I can stand on my own.” Roche said, trying to push himself to his feet. He cursed colourfully as he straightened up. He took a cautious step forward and his bad leg wobbled. Iorveth raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Being able to watch the dh’oine suffer as he limped stiffly over to the pool had its merits. 

Roche half sat, half-collapsed at the edge of the pool. Iorveth knelt beside him and took a closer look. It definitely needed cleaning and stitches. It was still oozing blood but not quite enough to be concerning. He took a clean rag from his bag and began the messy job of cleaning it. Roche stayed stubbornly silent throughout, the only sign of him experiencing pain was the odd flinch. Once clean, Iorveth dabbed on some yarrow salve to help stop the last of the bleeding and prevent infection. He then got out a needle and some thread woven from plant fibres. It was a little on the thick side for sutures, but it wasn’t like the Scoia’tael could be picky in their way of life. Iorveth looked up at Roche, he still looked pale and a thin sheen of sweat had gathered on his brow.

“This is going to hurt. You want something to bite on?” Iorveth asked. Roche looked at him for a long while then shook his head. 

“Not got anything strong enough.” he replied.

“I had heard Dh’oine were known for their vicious bites. Much like dogs.” Iorveth snorted as he threaded the needle. Roche stiffened at those words. Iorveth looked him over, he needed to calm the dh’oine or this was going to hurt way more than it needed to. Although that was an attractive prospect, it would also make doing neat sutures much more difficult. Iorveth took great pride in his work and he wasn’t about to let the dh’oine ruin it because of his stupid pride.

“Some of my elves find that singing helps with the pain. I know you can sing dh’oine. Why don’t you sing me one of your songs.” Iorveth said in a steady voice as he prepared to close the wound. Roche looked at him for a long minute and then began to sing a tight voice that wasn’t much more than a whisper, his singing was interrupted by some of the most creative cursing Iorveth had heard in a while. He was quietly impressed.

_ “A young man walked through the forest _

_ With his quiver and hunting bow _

By melitile's half-saggy tits...

_ He heard a young girl singing _

_ And followed the sound below _

_ There he found the maiden _

Son of a nekker-fucking nobleman...

_ Who lives in the willow _

Fuuuuuuck, are you trying to hurt me?

_ He called to her as she listened _

_ From a ring of toadstools red _

_ 'Come with me my maiden _

Drowner fucking hell hound!

_ Come from thy willow bed' _

_ She looked at him serenely _

_ And only shook her head.” _

Iorveth finished off the sutures and looked down at his work. They were actually pretty neat considering what he was working with. He cleaned up the area and added more salve before binding the wound securely. It was only after he had finished and looked up that he noticed that the dh’oine was staring at him. This was the closest they had ever been without there being violent intent from one or both of them. It felt strange that he had now touched Roche in a way that by some could almost be considered tender. He felt highly uncomfortable under the dh’oine’s gaze. He turned away and began washing his hands in the pool. He stayed silent while he packed away his medical kit and straightened up. He looked down at Roche who was still sitting with his leg outstretched.

“Can you walk on it easier now?” Iorveth asked, not looking at Roche. Roche slowly pushed himself to his feet with a wince. He gingerly tried to put weight on it.

“It hurts, but yes.” Roche replied. He stood there for several long moments looking like he was waging some kind of internal battle with himself. After the battle had been won by one side or other, he lifted his head and looked directly into Iorveth’s eye.

“Thank you.” he said. Iorveth snorted with laughter.

“All that clear internal anguish to simply grit out a thank you to the elf who just treated your wounds? You dh’oine never fail to amuse. Did that hurt to say Vernon?” Iorveth folded his arms and watched Roche’s face twist at the elf’s mocking. But the expression quickly dropped from Roche’s face and was replaced with something different and unfamiliar.

“You came back. I wasn’t sure you would.” Roche said quietly. Iorveth stiffened at the words.

“And let you take my waterfall as well as my homeland dh’oine? I don’t think so.” Iorveth responded huffily. 

“I can't stop thinking about it...playing with you I mean.” Roche looked away as he said it, flushing slightly at the admission. Iorveth felt himself flinch slightly. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it either.

“What is your game here dh’oine?” Iorveth growled back. 

“I...I don’t know. I should have...I should have killed you the first time I came, I certainly should have the second time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Roche blurted out.

“Am I supposed to be grateful? That you what? Didn’t kill me and then spied on me for weeks?” Iorveth snapped back.

“No. No, I just….I’m just. Fuck, I don’t know.” Roche huffed in irritation, staring fixedly at the floor. “Watching you play is probably the most peaceful I have ever felt. Ok? I know that’s fucked up. I should want you dead.” Roche admitted quietly not meeting Iorveth’s eye. Iorveth stood there stunned by the admission. However he expected this confrontation to play out...this was not how he expected it to go. There was far less blood.

They both stood there in awkward silence for a long time, Roche’s words settling uncomfortably on them both. Iorveth didn’t know what to think of the dh’oine’s words. He had imagined so many answers to why the dh’oine had let him live. This had never featured once. He couldn’t deal with this answer.

Iorveth turned and retreated to the base of the waterfall. He climbed halfway up the cliff face before turning. Roche was still standing where Iorveth had left him; he looked after Iorveth with a slightly dazed look on his face.

“Hey dh’oine?” Iorveth called out.

“What?” Roche replied, shocked out of his daze by the words.

“You’re welcome.” Iorveth said before turning and hauling himself up the last part of the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your lovely comments on the previous chapter. I love hearing from you :)
> 
> The music I have used as inspiration for this chapter is as follows (give them a listen ^^):
> 
> Sing for myself - Voices in your head https://open.spotify.com/track/42gjjuenEHj7wBUlbuO3RM?si=N1nDpIsBQIi_CXdLcPYOGg
> 
> Epilogue - Patrick Wolf https://open.spotify.com/track/7iQfPbhvGymFHtYNer5O3e?si=q_FTDGI8R6GEuu4U0_1dcg
> 
> Eulogy - Patrick Wolf https://open.spotify.com/track/1p12NR9c8kXszghSCR3UdO?si=obzjXitYQhuJyiI79Z-RHA
> 
> Bonny at Morn - Virginia Company https://open.spotify.com/track/3HC0TTVKOFSuBZtB6pzMRZ?si=a5tRrZPxTwKkV2Pu_vmang
> 
> The ends and the means - Robby Hecht (the song that inspired this whole fic) https://open.spotify.com/track/773qfjhPFd8sYEUCA3gMWn?si=gwlX1nrNQmmFw_T3ZUZeoA
> 
> Entr'acte - Flute harp duo https://open.spotify.com/track/0T6JAmKYsIrPgi30va220o?si=e2-HKclMT3etKBurt28YIQ
> 
> Flute Harp Concerto - Rachel Conwell https://open.spotify.com/track/1yLdTvMVFF6zYtSlAMPwpd?si=hHPrZ8gRTSuqIYZBcGBmJQ
> 
> Schwanenlied - https://open.spotify.com/track/58I1vBvQyCzucuxkMl9Pwc?si=3uui7mV7RZWjiPXd6KIyUw
> 
> The Willow Maid - Erutan https://open.spotify.com/track/7IjGLiUPXv5ZyPvxxnUgcM?si=WH1nBEl1Se-ZcALHVTfWtA


	3. Murderer or coward? Friend or enemy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth waited, bow still drawn. He knew he should have shot him already. He knew how this played out, he knew what dh’oine soldiers were: heartless monsters. Vernon Roche would be no different. Yet he wasn’t shooting, at least not yet. As soon as Roche made the slightest move to harm Vaeril he would find an arrow in his throat. Iorveth felt a strange wave of hot then cold wash over him. It was like two parts of himself were at war. One part was the burning rage he felt towards all dh’oine and their treatment of his people. The other was bitter disappointment that Vernon Roche, the one dh’oine he felt any connection to at all, was just like the rest of them - an oppressive, heartless killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am back after a period of illness over xmas. It has been great getting back to this fic, I love writing it so much.
> 
> Just a heads up Iorveth's back story in this chapter gets pretty dark and violent at points. It involves references to lynching, war and detailed accounts of violence. If that is not for you skip these parts and I will put a short summary of the story points in the end notes. Tags have been updated.

##  **IX**

Roche had known he was in deep after he’d played the duet with Iorveth. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how the combination of their instruments had blended so beautifully together, about how it had felt to combine his music with someone else’s. There was something inexplicable about it that drew Roche in further, and now he just couldn’t control how he was drawn to the clearing. He went there most days if he could spare the time. He told himself it was just to practice somewhere further away from camp so he wouldn’t be interrupted. 

Every time he got there, he felt the disappointment of Iorveth’s absence keenly. He would then spend most of his practice berating himself internally for wanting to see the elf at all. It was messed up to want to play music with your sworn enemy, Roche knew that. He did. But, he just couldn’t let it go somehow. He hoped that the elf would come back, but as time marched on it seemed less and less likely.

The day he had slipped and gashed his leg open not far from the clearing it could have been quite serious. If he’d had to walk all the way back to camp without it stitched up it would have been much worse and likely have got infected. Iorveth’s stitches had been so good that Roche had managed to hide the whole incident from PT. He knew PT would have been suspicious of how Roche had been able to stitch his own leg so well. 

He thought back to how Iorveth’s hands had felt on him more times than he cared to admit. He was still confused as to why the elf had helped him. It was one thing not to kill him, but another entirely to help him. But, the most important thing was...that the elf had come back. Perhaps he would again, well, if hadn’t been put off by Roche’s bladdering mouth. He still winced when he thought of his admission to the elf. 

The injury had meant that he had dared not go back to the clearing. It had been hard enough to hide his limp from his men as it was, without risking exacerbating it further. But, as soon as his leg had healed enough to walk on comfortably, Roche went straight back to his routine of visiting the clearing most days. On the third day, he was getting close to the clearing when he began to hear the ethereal notes of a flute. His pulse picked up and he quickened his pace. When he got to the clearing, Iorveth was there sat cross legged on the flat rock playing his flute. He looked the picture of nochantulance.

Roche entered the clearing. Iorveth was clearly pretending not to notice, but Roche could see the subtle change in his posture that let Roche know he had been seen. Roche settled himself near the rock, he took his vielle out of its case and waited patiently for Iorveth to finish so he could tune it. Iorveth finished what he was playing and waited patiently for Roche to tune his vielle. When he was done Iorveth looked at him and cocked his head in invitation. He raised the flute to his lips and began to play the song they had played together last time. Roche joined him without a word. 

Their instruments sang together, like the last time. Roche got utterly lost in it, the beautiful combination of the vielle and the flute. The two seemed to wind round each other as they played. The effect produced a deep pleasant hum under Roche’s skin. About halfway through he realised he had closed his eyes. He opened them to see that Iorveth was looking at him intently while he played. Roche knew he should probably feel uncomfortable under the elf’s gaze, but instead he felt a warm swell in his chest. He liked the elf watching him. 

“You’ve been practicing.” Iorveth said lightly, looking away from Roche. Roche lowered his vielle, he could feel himself flush slightly at the comment. 

“Only to prove once and for all that I am the better musician.” Roche said with a smile and a wink. Iorveth snorted, a smile twitching at his lips.

“Prove it then. Play me your best.” Iorveth challenged, his body language was deliberately casual but Roche could see the fire in his eyes. 

Roche went through his repertoire in his head. He knew just the song, it was a piece called ‘Valley of the Moon’. It was a piece that soared, climbing with optimism and joy. Roche particularly liked it because it switched between long drawn out notes to fast agile fiddle playing. He enjoyed the contrast. He felt himself get lost in it, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. As the last drawn out note ended, Roche looked up and found that the elf was intently watching him again. There was a look of intense focus on his face like he was trying to work something out.

“Got nothing to say elf? Was getting used to your criticism.” Roche remarked, lowering the vielle.

“Play it again.” the elf said simply.

“Bossy.” Roche smirked, raising the vielle again. He started to play and after a few bars he saw Iorveth raise his flute to his lips. He didn’t follow the tune exactly, he improvised over Roche’s playing, matching the key and rhythm. The two distinct sounds merging and dancing around each other like hawks in courtship flight. Roche marvelled at it. Playing together with someone this way was exhilarating in so many ways he did not expect. 

They stopped playing and looked at each other for a long moment, before lowering their instruments.

“I should be getting back to my camp.” Iorveth said quietly. He got up and shined up the cliff. When he got to the top he looked back. “Goodbye Vernon.” Then quick as a flash he was gone. 

-

After the conjunction of the spheres, life remained quiet for a couple of centuries. The humans mostly stayed to the south. But as time drew on they kept pushing closer and closer to Elven lands. Once the wars started, the humans kept coming relentlessly, pillaging and taking more and more land. The fighting got so bad that Iorveth and his family moved along with other refugees out East. Eventually, they settled in Loc Muinne, the abandoned city of the long dead Vrans. Life was hard there, there were so many people and not enough resources for more than a few to live in anything more than poverty. In their own lands the earth had just given them food, there had been no need to to do much more than hunt and make merry. But now, there was no call for music, no call for celebration, there was only surrender. 

Iorveth mourned his previous life bitterly. He’d had it all and now here he was toiling just to eat. His bitter grouching only earned him ire from the rest of his kin. The war had happened, the treaty had been signed, this was their life now. 

Iorveth longed for more, for better. He missed adoring audiences and parties. He grew more and more restless, watching the world change, the human’s world growing bigger and that of the elves growing smaller. The centuries wore on and he found himself wishing more and more for a life beyond what he had.

He spent day after monotonous day helping hunt and gathering what little food they could from the mountains around the city. After the day’s work was done, Iorveth spent his evenings wandering the city, drinking as much as his meager income would allow. He found several other discontent younger elves and the group of them drank and explored the ruins of the ancient dead city. Beneath the streets the city was honeycombed with tunnels and disused sewers. At first, exploring them became a new obsession. It felt like something new, something that was just their’s. But even that lost its lustre once they had explored them all. 

During one such evening excursion, they ended up drinking in a tunnel they had explored a thousand times before. Iorveth looked down at himself in disgust, had it really come to drinking in an ancient sewer? Was that what his life would amount to? He downed the rest of his bottle of mead and abandoned the group to weave drunkenly through the streets back to the rundown house he shared with his family. 

The house was a squat two-story stone building on the corner of two narrow streets. It was cramped with only three bedrooms to serve Iorveth’s parents, his uncle, his sister and his two brothers with their partners and children. Iorveth had long since taken to sleeping on a cot in the kitchen. It was one of the few places that was quiet at night. 

He often came home drunk these days, much to the ire of his parents and brothers. They had always been content with having small lives, with simply living off and with the land. Iorveth had always wanted more and now they were all being forced to live even smaller lives. He often got into heated arguments about it with his brothers, but he would also sound off at anyone who made the mistake of listening. 

Something had to change, didn’t it? The more angry and disenfranchised he felt, the more fraught encounters he had with his family members. Including a particularly fire exchange with his mother that ended in _‘Why can’t you just be content Iorveth?_ ’. Why couldn’t he indeed? Because there was more to life than this toil surely? At some point they had to learn to live with the humans. Otherwise there would be no hope of regaining what they had before.

Eventually, the times changed and the antagonism between the humans and the Elder races calmed. There almost seemed to be hope. Geoffrey Monck was welcomed in Loc Muinne with a group of human children gifted with the Power who were trained with the elven Sages. For a while it seemed like living together might be possible. 

Iorveth looked beyond the walls of Loc Muinne and made a decision, he would not stay here to live a life of lacklustre insignificance. He would travel, surely a musician of his caliber could make enough coin to get by...and if not, he was skilled at making flutes and whistles. And if all else failed...labouring somewhere else was...well labouring somewhere else. He said goodbye to his family who were equal parts sad and relieved to see him off for a few years. He remembered clearly holding his Mother close and her whispering in his ear ‘I hope you find your happiness, my flower.’. 

The world the humans had now claimed was in many ways the same, the same mountains, the same trees, the same dirt on the road. But, it was also vastly different, the great cities of the elves had mostly been completely destroyed by this point. The human settlements that replaced them were squat and stinking. Humans themselves were, for the most part, suspicious of elves. In some places they were hostile, but for the most part they simply gave elves a wide berth. After a few tense encounters Iorveth developed a certain sense for which towns or villages to avoid.

Music, however, seemed to be one of the few things that transcended the differences in their race. It was a language both their kinds spoke and relished in. Iorveth managed to scrape a living by playing in taverns and occasionally staying with the enclaves of elves still living in the human dominated lands. It wasn’t much, it was hard work, but it was something different. There was music, there was hope.

He had been on the road for about a year when news reached him of Loc Muinne. He barely remembered the words of the elf who told him the news. All he remembered was the horrible wash of cold that flooded him. The whole world seemed to muffle and grow distant. 

He travelled back immediately, the whole journey passing like it never really happened. The only part he remembered of it was finally seeing the great lake in the distance. The city from this distance looked much as it ever had, by this time it had stopped smoking and the signs of the masacre could not be seen at this distance. Iorveth remembered standing there and thinking that from here he could almost believe nothing had happened. Perhaps if he just stayed here then maybe it would just be as it ever was...maybe his family wouldn’t be... 

He stayed there standing staring at the lake in the distance for a long time. Placing even a foot forward seemed like it would solidify what he knew was true. That his family...all his friends..everyone he had known...that they were all gone.

Placing that foot forward felt like a blow to his very soul, as did every step afterwards. Unlike his journey up to that point, he remembered every single step of the last fifteen miles to Loc Muinne like they were burned in his very being. He remembered walking the streets and seeing the blood stains and the few bodies that had yet to be cleared, all the buildings scorched or damaged. When he finally found the house he and his family had shared it was still mostly in one piece. For a brief second he wondered if maybe they had been lucky, but one push of the door and the smell that hit him like a club to the face told him that no, they had not. 

He was not sure why he looked around the house that day, perhaps it was morbid fascination, perhaps it was a desire to hurt as much as possible. He remembered each of their faces and the twisted bloody expressions of their painful deaths. The only face he did not recall seeing was that of his sister Gwenveth. Perhaps she escaped...but more likely she had met her death outside of their home. He had been told on his way in that almost no one had escaped the Redanian army’s massacre, not women...not even children. 

  
  


##  **X**

Iorveth couldn’t understand what drew him to the dh’oine, but he found himself returning to the waterfall time after time. He just really liked watching him play. His eyes were so intense and focussed, when he had them open anyway. When he had them close his face took on this almost transcendent quality. 

The two of them had fallen into something of a routine. With the Scoia'tael focusing on quietly building their resources, neither of their camps had much to do with each other, especially as the nights became longer and colder. Every few days, they would head to the waterfall and practice together. To begin with Iorveth barely spoke to the dh’oine. He swore to himself that this was just about the music. But, as the weeks drew on they began to exchange a few pleasantries and talk as well as play. 

Iorveth was still guarded, this was a dh’oine and not just any dh’oine, this was Vernon Roche head of the Temerian Special Forces. All dh’oine would turn on elves given the opportunity, he knew that first hand. None of them could be trusted and Vernon Roche in particular should not be trusted. Yet here he was playing music with him. He went to meet with him again and again. There was just something, something he couldn’t quite fathom, that kept pulling him back.

-

Iorveth’s memory of the time after the massacre was hazy at best. Flashes of collective anger and grief. The massacre was a turning point for what was left of the elves, the older elves for the most part wanted to hide in the mountains and wait out the short lived human invaders, the younger elves wanted to fight back and take revenge for their slaughtered brethren. As time went on and the violence with the dh’oine escalated the divide became more pronounced and more heated until a well spoken elf named Aelirenn became the voice of the anger of the youth. The younger elves rallied around her and she became the emblem for their righteous anger. 

"No more truces, no more elves on bent knee," Aelirenn would shout to crows of traumatised disenfranchised youth. "This is elven land. We will take back what was stolen! We shall drive the ape-men into the sea!" They all wanted to believe her, that this was their land to take back, that in doing so that it would somehow heal the wounds created by lost parents, siblings, lovers and children. 

Iorveth fiercely supported Aelirenn’s uprising even if he had nothing to contribute in terms of arms. The closest skill he had ever learnt to fighting was hunting...and even then his skill had always been with tracking and understanding his prey rather than the act of killing. He joined as an archer, but due to his lack of skill he was kept off the front lines at the battle of Shaerrawedd. 

The day of the battle rose in Iorveth’s mind like a tortured dream, he had no conception of the order of events but flashes of blood and cold dead eyes that haunted his dreams for centuries later. One moment that stuck out to him was the first time human soldiers got close to his unit, he remembered aiming an arrow at them, trying to pick a target. Everytime he settled on one all he could see was mutilated bodies of his own family. He didn’t want to be a killer...even in all his pain and hatred, he didn’t want to be like them. But, the closer they got the less and less choice he felt he had. He could feel the tension build throughout him in a sick wave. It was now or never, pride and murder or cowardice and death. Which would he choose? He closed his eyes and decided to let the stars decide. When he opened his eyes a soldier lay dead before him, an arrow sticking out his throat. He was to be murderer then. He remembered clearly the wave of cold nausea that swept over him as he retched at the sight of his own violence. 

As the humans gained the upper hand Iorveth remembered watching elf after elf fall. Fear gripped him so tightly that in the end he just turned and fled. He ran from the death, the destruction, the blood he had spilled, he ran from it all. He was also to be a coward then, the stars seemed to have decided for him. 

He knew deep down that there was nothing he could have done to change the course of that battle, but the guilt of his survival haunted him. Twice now he had survived the massacre of his people. Twice now his own selfishness had afforded him an escape from death. He had not been there to save his family and despite being there in battle to save his comrades he had failed them. He was a murderer and a coward with nothing to show for it but his own sorry life.

-

Iorveth was perched in a tree near the edge of the forest. He took in the forest around him, the trees were starting to turn as the cool of Autumn began to set in. It had rained recently so fresh clusters of mushrooms had erupted from the forest floor, taking advantage of the damp conditions to spread their spores. He looked back out through the tree line. He had tasked some younger members of the Scoia'tael to do a supply run. These were relatively low risk assignments that were good training for those not used to combat. Iorveth was simply there to watch over them in case there were any surprises. So far, the mission had been uneventful, all but one of the elves had made it back to the forest. Iorveth was just waiting on Vaeril now. 

It hadn’t been quite long enough yet to get worried, but Iorveth had started to get a little bit twitchy. He focussed on all the sounds around him. Were the birds making alarm calls? Or being ominously quiet? Could he hear Vaeril’s movements in the brush beyond the edge of the forest? He waited, body tense and waiting to spring into action if needed.

He almost flinched when he did start to hear the scattered alarm calls of various birds, first the high high rattle of a robin, then several pook-pook-pook calls from a number of blackbirds. Iorveth was turning on his perch in the direction of the alarm calls when he heard it; shouting and the sounds of a fight. He was about the climb down the tree when he caught movement not far from the base of his tree. Vaeril was scrambling away from a figure in blue, fuck, it must be one of the Blue Stripes. Iorveth drew his bow and notched an arrow. He waited for them to get close enough so he could get a clear shot. Just as they got close enough for Iorveth to shoot, two things happened. The figure launched himself at Vaeril and wrestled him to the ground and as he did Iorveth finally got a good look at him. The figure was none other but Vernon Roche himself.

Iorveth felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He had seen this kind of scene play out a thousand times. He knew what dh’oine soldiers did when they caught an elf. It didn’t matter that this elf was just fetching food, to dh’oine all elves were less than human and they were all a threat. Iorveth felt his breathing speed up, he should just shoot Roche, take him out as quickly as possible. Just because he had been insane enough to secretly play music with the dh’oine didn’t take away from the fact that he was a dh’oine and a soldier at that. He was a threat, a very real threat right in front of him about to harm one of Iorveth’s own.

“Gotcha. Now, what were you doing loitering around this part of the woods eh?” Iorveth heard Roche’s voice through the trees.

“N-Nothing. Just getting food.” Vaeril stammered, the fear evident in his voice. Iorveth carefully aimed his arrow right at Roche's throat, his fingers ready to let off the fatal shot at a moment's notice.

“Then let me look in your pack.” Roche demanded, pulling it from Vaeril’s shoulders. He rifled through it and passed it back to the frighted young elf. “I trust none of it’s been stolen?” he asked.

“N-No.” Vaeril stammered back, clutching the pack to his chest. 

Iorveth waited, bow still drawn. He knew he should have shot him already. He knew how this played out, he knew what dh’oine soldiers were: heartless monsters. Vernon Roche would be no different. Yet he wasn’t shooting, at least not yet. As soon as Roche made the slightest move to harm Vaeril he would find an arrow in his throat. Iorveth felt a strange wave of hot then cold wash over him. It was like two parts of himself were at war. One part was the burning rage he felt towards all dh’oine and their treatment of his people. The other was bitter disappointment that Vernon Roche, the one dh’oine he felt any connection to at all, was just like the rest of them - an oppressive, heartless killer.

Roche pushed himself up to standing and looked down at the young elf cowering on the floor. Iorveth’s grip on his bow tightened, he kept his aim on Roche’s throat. The moment was coming, the moment he would have to release the arrow to stop Roche from harming one of his recruits. Roche reached out a hand and offered it Vaeril. 

“Up you get.” he said as he grabbed Vaeril’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Now, I am trusting that you didn’t steal any of that. So, I am letting you go on your way. Just don’t let me catch you in this part of the woods again, are we clear?”

“Yes. You won’t be seeing me here again.” Vaeril said quietly, clearly in as much shock as Iorveth was at the Blue Stripes Commander’s actions. 

“Oh, and elf? Try working on your stealth. I could hear you half a mile away.” Roche said with a grin.

“Errr ok...I will.” Vaeril said in complete disbelief. He took a few tentative steps backwards before turning and running away like his life depended on it

Iorveth kept his arrow trained on Roche until Vaeril was out of range, he had seen dh’oine soldiers let elves go only to shoot or stab them in the back. But Roche just stood there and watched the elf before turning to go on his own way. Iorveth watched him leave, lowering his bow. He was struggling to make sense of what he had just seen. Roche had just let Vaeril go, just like that. He hadn’t roughed him up or insulted or humiliated him. He had just checked him over and let him go on his way. Iorveth stayed on his perch for several long minutes before climbing down to follow Vaeril back to their camp.

-

It was two days after Iorveth had watched Roche let Vaeril go. He had gone over and over it in his mind. He still couldn’t make sense of it. Why wouldn’t Roche have just killed him and been done with it? Mercy wasn’t something dh’oine were known for, unless it was to their own. Iorveth had learned that lesson many times. He walked part of the way to the waterfall for one of their regular meetings but stopped halfway. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go further. Vernon Roche did not make sense, and in Iorveth’s experience when the motivations of dh’oine did not make sense it usually meant it would end at the expense of non-humans. He looked along the path towards the waterfall, he could still feel whatever strange connection he had with Roche draw him onwards. After several minutes of contemplation he carried on walking. 

When he got to the top of the waterfall he heard Roche before he saw him. He was down below tuning up his vielle. Iorveth snuck silently towards the edge and looked down at the dh’oine. Roche was sitting on a rock carefully tuning each string one by one. He was focussed and calm, going about his task methodically. He wasn’t dressed in the armour he usually wore when in battle or on patrol, he was just in a thick wool tunic and overcoat. Something about this added even more to Iorveth’s inner turmoil. Roche had willingly come deep into the woods alone to meet his supposed enemy and he hadn’t thought to even wear his armour. Why would he do that? Iorveth never came to meet him unarmed or without at least some of his armour. What was the dh’oine’s game? Did he want to lull Iorveth into a false sense of security? Was he stupid? Or did he simply trust Iorveth enough not to feel the need?

Iorveth paused at the top of the waterfall for several long minutes, unsure if he wanted to go down. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him as it always did. He slipped down the waterfall without a word and took up his usual seat on the large flat rock at the base of the waterfall. He took out his flute and began playing without even looking at Roche. Roche looked up in surprise and opened his mouth to utter a greeting before closing it again, clearly sensing the tension in Iorveth. He picked up the vielle and waited for an easy opening to join, improvising easily over Iorveth’s flute playing. 

When the song came to an end Iorveth lowered his flute and looked over at Roche. He found he had no idea what to say. With all the questions swirling around in his head it felt almost impossible to talk to him normally, but at the same time he had no idea what he would ask even if he wanted to.

“You ok Iorveth?” Roch said carefully. “You seem a bit on edge.”

“I’m not on edge.” Iorveth snapped back.

“If you say so...Fancy playing King of the Fairies again? Got quite fond of that one.” Roche said with a smile, clearly trying to ease the tension.

“Sure.” Iorveth said shortly before picking up his flute and launching into the song before Roche had had a chance to begin. Roche scrambled to get his vielle back under his chin and had to wait several beats before he caught up. Their duet this time felt off. It wasn’t that either of them were off key or out of time. But the something that had made playing together so wondrous, the way their instruments felt like they were playing as one, just wasn’t there. Iorveth knew Roche could sense it too and the longer they played the more it irked him, the more it added to the tension coiled through his body. Why was he even here? He was a leader of the Scoia’tael and he shouldn’t be here playing music casually with a dh’oine that had likely murdered and tortured many of his kind. It was wrong...he shouldn’t want this. 

Roche had had more enough opportunities to kill or capture Iorveth while his guard was down. Yet, all he had seemed to want to do was listen to Iorveth’s music and for them to play together. Then he freed one of Iorveth’s elves with barely more than a scratch after catching him openly doing a supply run. And now, here he was coming to meet Iorveth without even putting on his armour, like it was the most normal thing in the world. None of it made sense, this was not how dh’oine were supposed to be. 

Everything about it maddened Iorveth, the endless questions swirling around his head as he tried to concentrate on playing. Eventually after missing several notes Iorveth cursed and slammed his flute down in his lap. Roche stopped playing and looked at Iorveth for several long seconds as if expecting him to speak.

“You sure you’re ok Iorveth? You look like you are about to snap your flute in half.” Roche asked cautiously.

“You let him free.. Why?” Iorveth burst out, his head jerking up to look Roche in the eye. Roche flinched at the outburst.

“Let who free?” he asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Vaeril. Two days ago. You caught him and then just let him go.” Iorveth said.

“The young elf boy?” Roche asked, still looking confused.

“Yes.” Iorveth said, irritation starting to rise in his chest.

“Well, he was just getting food. No reason to kill someone not doing any harm.” Roche shrugged. 

“You're a Temerian soldier, your job is to kill Scoia’tael.” Iorveth retorted, his irritation rising.

“Exactly, I am a soldier, not a murderer. My job is not to just kill people indiscriminately.” Roche said incredulously.

“Isn’t it? In my experience that is exactly what dh’oine soldiers do.” Iorveth spat. Roche looked taken aback. 

“I...I don’t know what soldiers you have met in the course of your life, but I am not going to kill someone just for getting food. My orders here are to protect Temerians from Scoia’tael attacks. If I have to kill someone in carrying out those orders I will do it, but I am not here to kill indiscriminately. I am here to protect Temeria and her people. If you and you’re Scoia’tael are not threatening either, then I have no reason to carry out those orders.” Roche held Iorveth’s angry gaze as he spoke. When he finished a long silence stretched between them. What could Iorveth say to that? He had no idea what to even think of that. All he knew of dh’oine soldiers was pain, masacre and humiliation. He felt the collective anger of all he had seen and experienced rise in him.

“And what happens when those orders change? I have seen countless masacres of my people at the hands of your soldiers. Seen the bodies of innocent civilians including children with their throats slit by dh’oine blades. So forgive me for not trusting a word of what you have just said.” Iorveth practically growled.

“Oh and elves have never murdered civilians? From what I have heard your hands are far from clean Iorveth. You were a commander in the Vrihedd Brigade, a fucking war criminal by all accounts, and you stand here and lecture me on murdering children. How many human children have died by your hand?” Roche retorted, 

“Don’t you dare speak of what you could not possibly begin to understand. Most of my people have been systematically wiped out, and those that are left live as second class citizens in their own lands. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch nearly everyone you know die by the hands of invaders? There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect my people, and I am not ashamed of that. I would rather die carrying the weight of those actions if it meant my people could live freely.” Iorveth stepped closer to Roche and hissed the last few words right in his face.

At first Roche looked like he was about to retort angrily, but as Iorveth’s words sank in his shoulders slumped and a strange expression crossed his face. Was that guilt? Remorse? Sadness? 

“Then why are you here?” Roche said quietly. “If that’s how you feel...then why?”

This was not the response Iorveth had been expecting and he felt the anger that had been rising in him drain away as he stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. Why was he here? He hated dh’oine and what they had done to him, his family, his people. Yet somehow Roche felt different. He didn’t behave the way Iorveth expected dh’oine to behave and something about that was both intriguing and maddening at the same time.

“You don’t make sense.” Iorveth said, still not looking the dh’oine in the eye. “You should have killed me the first time you found me here. I am a leader of the Scoia’tael and you are Temarian Special Forces. Your orders are to eliminate me. Yet you let me live...and then watched me play music and asked to play with me. You let Vaeril go… and then come here not even wearing your armour like I am no threat to you. How can you be a dh’oine soldier and do all of those things?” As he finished he looked up at Roche, trying to find some kind of answer in his face.

“I could ask you the same thing. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill me too, and by your own admission you have far more reasons to want me dead.” Roche said.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here. I shouldn’t be.” Iorveth said, looking away.

“Yet here you are, and here I am.” Roche said. “Damn it Iorveth, I want to be here. I don’t really understand either, but I want to be here. I want to play music with you. Can’t we just damn the rest and enjoy it?” He looked defiantly at Iorveth as though admitting he wanted to be here was the start of a fight.

Iorveth looked back at him for several minutes, unable to think of what to say in response. He wanted to be here too; he wanted to play music with Roche. It was the happiest he had been in a long time. But, that didn’t change who they were or what their stations demanded of them. Yet, Roche seemed different somehow. He hadn’t tried to kill Iorveth...he had let Vaeril go. Could he let the fact that Roche was a dh’oine soldier go? He wasn’t sure...but maybe he could just ignore it for a while.

“I...I want to be here too.” Iorveth said almost reluctantly. Roche looked almost shocked by the admission but recovered his composure quickly.

“Well then...how about we go back to playing instead of yelling at each other?” he said with a grin.

“Fine. But you better pick a more interesting song because I am fed up with King of the fairies now.” Iorveth snipped back before picking up his flute.

  
  


##  **XI**

The aftermath of the uprising was a time of great mourning, almost an entire generation of elves were wiped out in one day, this in conjunction with the massacre at Loc Muinne meant that their numbers had been almost halved. Everyone had lost somebody, everyone was grieving, it felt like mourning had become a baseline elven pastime. It was in this swirl of collective mourning that the cult of Aelirenn began. Many wanted to believe in her fierce words, that if they could just be strong enough that the pain and loss they had suffered would be worth something. The cult took many forms from small groups worshipping Aelirenn to groups of bandits targeting human settlements before these bands joined up to make larger groups of freedom fighters before finally becoming known as the Scoia'tael.

Iorveth spent years wrapped up in his loss, he felt empty. Almost everything he had valued had been taken from him and all he was left with were vicious violent images of death. He was haunted by images of his family’s corpses, but also by the body of the human soldier, lifeless with an arrow sticking from his throat. Cold dead eyes haunted every dream...death so much death. For this reason, Iorveth stayed away from the cult of Aelirenn. Freedom fighters they may call themselves, but what that amounted to was war….and death, and Iorveth had seen enough death, or so he thought. 

The one thing Iorveth had left was his music. He had still managed to retain a small collection of instruments and he played almost obsessively outside the toil of surviving. It felt like the one thing he could do. Music was a comfort, it was a way to express all the complex emotions and experiences he and other elves had gone through. The only peace he found now was in helping bring some small amount of peace to others through his music. Be it the silent tears at one of his songs about loss or the sad smiles from an old folk song that spoke of happier times. He was no warrior, he was a coward...and a murderer. But, he was also a musician, that was something he could do, a thing of value he could offer. He clung to it like it was his last shred of life.

Since the battle of Shaerrawedd, Iorveth lived on the outskirts of a small rundown Elven village. It was a group of ramshackle broken down buildings that was dirty and damp. It was in such bad repair the dh’oine left it entirely alone for the most part. Iorveth scraped a living hunting. He was never the most talented hunter in his family but he was good enough to just about make a living. It was not much of a life, but it was a life. In the face of everything that wasn’t nothing.

The day that all changed was just a normal monotonous day. Iorveth was just returning from one of his hunts when he heard it; dh’oine voices. A sick knot twisted in his stomach as he rounded the final corner to enter the main part of the village. 

There were five dh’oine soldiers wandering around the village talking and laughing loudly as they helped themselves to what little food the elf village had. The village inhabitants, mostly older elves but also a few children and adolescents, were standing around meekly watching the dh’oine openly steal. Before he had much of a chance to react one of the soldiers came up to him and demanded he hand over the brace of rabbits tied to his belt. He handed them over without a word. 

He could feel the tension and fear throughout the village as they meekly watched the soldiers as they went about taking whatever they wanted. All of the elves were clearly hoping the soldiers would leave without any trouble. They may end up going hungry, but if they could at least survive this encounter without any violence or death that would be enough. They were told to stand outside where they could be seen as the soldiers searched through each hut, flinging belongings around and taking what they wanted. 

Iorveth felt a sick feeling in his stomach as one of the soldiers found a stash of mead. The likelihood of something bad happening would only increase if the soldiers were drunk. He watched as he saw parents pull their children close and several elves shift uncomfortably at the new development.

As the soldiers drank, they began to get louder, singing songs about how humans had triumphed over elves and occasionally hurling insults as they passed by the fearful groups of elves. This soon progressed into loud boosting about other elven towns they had plundered, talking openly about how they had strung up elves who had gotten ‘mouthy’. Iorveth tried to tune them out, but he could see many of the older elves flinch at their words. The soldiers laughed and jeered at the reaction. It wasn’t long after that they started coming right up and jeering their insults and lurid descriptions of cruelty right in some of the elves' faces pushing some of them around. Most just stared at the floor and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening only for the soldiers to call them pathetic, meek and cowards, little better than dogs. 

One elf, young but no longer a child, pushed a soldier back spitting curses. Iorveth felt himself go cold, he knew that anger and he also had seen where it led. He watched as the soldiers collectively rounded on the young elf. The soldier who had been pushed smacked the elf hard across the face before proceeding to beat her until she fell to the floor. Iorveth flinched at the sound of every hit and cry of pain. He could feel his eyes burn, he wanted the soldiers to stop, he wanted the violence to stop. All he wanted was peace, he didn’t even care what life he led as long as he never had to see more violence again. 

He looked up to see that the soldiers had stopped beating the elf. She was still alive, but badly beaten, one eye already swelling shut. She lay in the mud shaking from silent sobs. The soldier stood over her and told her this was what happened to dogs who didn’t know their place. 

Was that all they were to them? Animals. Less than. Dh’oine had come here, taken their homes, their lands, pushed them further and further out of the lands they called home, pushed them to the edges where most could barely even feed themselves, then massacred them again and again until there was no elf who hadn’t lost someone. And now, here they were taking their dignity along with their homes and the lives of their loved ones. What would be next? Their freedom? Iorveth felt himself seethe with anger and sadness. He wanted the dh’oine soldiers to know suffering, to know pain and fear, but the weight of his own powerlessness held him in his place. He knew where fighting back led, it led to death. Coward or murderer? He had made his choice all those years ago. He had paid the price of being both, so he stayed still and looked away. 

The soldiers jeered at the beaten elf and turned to the other fearful elves stood watching and called them weak and worthless. The soldier who had beaten the elf went back to where she lay on the floor. He bent down and grabbed the elf’s face and told her that she needed to be taught a further lesson about what happened when elves failed to know their place. He threw her back to the floor and grabbed an elven child from where he was hiding behind his mother. 

He yanked the child out into the middle of the muddy open space between the huts. He looked at the beaten elf on the floor and told her that what was going to happen to the child was her fault and if her and the rest of the elves wanted their children to be safe then they should know their place. 

Iorveth watched, his fists clenched so hard that his fingernails bit into his palm. A child, they were going to harm a child. Just like his nieces and nephews. Iorveth felt a sick wave of anger and fear wash over him. He felt the crushing weight of their deaths on him. He had been powerless to stop their suffering, he hadn’t even been able to die with them. All because he couldn’t be satisfied with life in Loc Muinne. He hadn’t died with his brethren at Shaerrawedd either. He had run because he couldn’t face the price of war. Each time he had put his life above the lives of his people, and for what? This sorry existence? He would rather be dead. He would...rather be dead. He would rather be dead than watch this happen. He hadn’t been able to save his family, or his friends, or his fellow freedom fighters. But this child, he would at least not put his life before the life of this child. 

“Coward.” Iorveth said, he almost wasn’t sure if he meant himself or the soldier, but it was too late now. The soldier whirled around, his hand still gripping the child’s shoulder. He looked at Iorveth with a sickening grin.

“What was that dog?” he drawled.

“Coward.” Iorveth said loudly. He could sense the elves behind them shift in fear.

“You’re calling me a coward?” the soldier asked, walking towards Iorveth.

“I am.” Iorveth said squaring his shoulders. “I will call anyone that chooses to harm a child a coward.”

“Is that right?” the soldier said with a sneer, letting go of the child and walking right up so he was right in front of Iorveth. The child stood fearfully for a few moments before running back towards his mother. “And I suppose you are not a coward?” 

“I’ll fight you if that’s what you mean, or are you too scared to actually fight an elf one on one?” Iorveth schooled his face into a look of cool calm and looked down at the soldier. The soldier, like most humans, was shorter than Iorveth. Despite this Iorveth could feel his heart beat hard against his rib cage. This was it, this was how he would die, by the hand of a drunk dh’oine soldier. At least he could die knowing he was no longer a coward, and if he was going to die then he was going to go fighting. He would make this dh’oine feel pain, he would make it hard, he would make the dh’oine work for Iorveth’s death.

“To fight an elf as pathetic as you? I would be more scared of my sister’s kitten.” the soldier said a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. With that he lunged at Iorveth with a vicious blow to the side of Iorveth’s head. He was so fast Iorveth hadn’t had time to react and the pain was blinding. He staggered to the side with the sounds of the soldiers' jeers and taunts ringing in his ears. 

Something in him seemed to snap and all of a sudden all of those sounds seemed really far away, everything around him seemed to slow down and his sole focus became the fight. He twisted round and lunged himself at the soldier with the full force of his body. He aimed blow after blow down on the soldier, not really caring where they landed, not really noticing when the soldier hit him either. His only focus was to cause pain, to keep hitting, to keep fighting. Even when the human caught one of his arms Iorveth let out a wild cry and wrenched his arm free. In the back of his mind he noticed how much stronger than the dh’oine he seemed. He had never fought a human like this before. He had heard stories that physically elves were stronger but he had never been in a situation where he could witness it first hand. 

As the fight drew on Iorveth began to feel fatigue set in, he was slowing down and the soldier was able to land progressively more blows on him until the soldier distracted him with a feint and managed to kick out his legs. Iorveth landed in the mud with a hard thump. His breath was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping painfully as the soldier pinned him to the floor. The soldier held him there and looked down at him with a look that was full of contempt. 

“You have balls, I will give you that, dog. But like all unruly mutts there comes a point when they need to be put down.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only Iorveth could hear. “I am going to slit your throat, you are going to bleed out in front of all the other elves in this shitty village. Then I will slit the child's throat and all of them will learn what happens when elves don’t know their place.” The soldier started laughing as he reached to his belt to retrieve his dagger.

Iorveth felt rage burn through him at the soldiers words, the rage of every person he had lost of every indignity and hardship he had suffered and watched others suffer. All of it flared in him like an unthinking surge of energy. He looked up at the soldier above him and lunged with every last fiber of his being. All that ran through his mind is that he wanted the soldier to stop, that he wanted him to feel pain and that we would rip and scratch and tear until he had nothing left to give. 

What happened next was a blur, Iorveth still wasn’t sure exactly how he ended up with his teeth deep in the flesh of the soldier's neck. All he remembered was the feel and taste of his mouth filling with dh’oine blood. He remembers somehow flipping them over and raining down blows on the soldiers face again and again. He just kept hitting until he realised the soldier was no longer moving and that beneath them was a growing pool of blood. He stopped, looking up for the first time. It took him a moment to take in what was around him. The soldiers and the elves of the village staring at him with varying amounts of horror and fear on their faces. Iorveth looked over at the soldiers, some of them had hands on their weapons and some just stared at him. He looked back down at the dead soldier. He had expected to die. The dh’oine should have killed him...should have killed the child. But he hadn't, he was dead. Iorveth had done that. He felt a strange surge of power run through him. He looked back at the soldiers, they feared him, he could see it in their eyes. He felt like laughing, wild manic laughter, the situation in all its horror felt darkly comical. He stood still looking at the soldiers, his chest still heaving from the exertion, his face and chest covered in blood.

“Who's next?” he said, taking a threatening step towards them. The soldiers instinctively stepped backwards, clearly wary of being too close. “What none of you brave dh’oine soldiers have the guts to fight an unarmed elf? Well aren't you truly a bunch of pathetic cowards.” He reached up to wipe his mouth and watched one of the soldiers flinch at the sight. Iorveth grinned manically back. “If we are quite done here then I suggest you leave...unless one of you wants a round with me?” The soldiers all shook their heads and backed away before hurriedly leaving the village. 

Iorveth watched them leave, his chest heaving. The whole situation felt unreal, like the colours were too vivid for this to be anything other than a dream. He felt detached, almost like he was watching this from a position that was set back from true experience, like there was a delay between the actions of his body and the thoughts that commanded them. Like the person he was observing from was a few seconds ahead. He looked down at his hands, they didn't look or feel like his hands, they were bruised and covered in blood. He could feel the blood drying on his face. He shivered at the sensation.

He turned slowly back to the other elves of the village. They all stared back at him like they couldn’t believe what they were looking at, like he had sprouted claws and extra teeth...like he was a monster. The moment felt frozen, Iorveth didn’t know what to do next. They just stared at each other until a child’s fearful crying broke the silence and one of the older elves stepped forward.

“What have you done?” his voice was laced with fear and anger. The tone shocked something in Iorveth. He wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting but somehow anger was not it.

“I...I don’t know.” Iorveth said quietly, he found his voice cracked. 

“Look at what you have done! Look at it.” The older elf shouted shrilly. Iorveth looked down at the mess of blood and body that was the soldier. He had done that, hadn't he? Part of him baulked in horror at the violence dealt by his own hands. A small part of him looked at it with glee...he had done that. He had shown that monster of a dh’oine what it was to suffer. He had given him what he deserved...and it felt good. Iorveth flinched at the thought. 

“They are going to come back now. They are going to come for you, and the rest of us. They will not let this pass...they will demand retribution.” The older elf shouted, a look of desperation and fear on his face.

“Would you rather I had let him kill a child?” Iorveth rounded on him, fuming.

“I would rather we lived in a land without dh’oine, but that isn’t the world we live in Iorveth. Your actions have condemned us all.” the older elf growled.

“Then what would you have me do?” Iorveth said, his voice raised and also edged with desperation now.

“Leave. Get as far away as possible. You are on the run now...as are all of us.” the older elf said. Iorveth could see tears welling up in his eyes and felt his begin to burn in response. He wiped at his eyes and turned away towards his hut. 

It felt like he was walking through mist in someone else's body, watching their hands pack away his few belongings: his bow, his hunting knives, his few worn clothes. He turned to look at his only possessions of value, his collection of musical instruments. He had managed to keep his harp, a lute and a small collection of whistles, recorders and flutes. He stared at them. He had spent his whole life with music, his whole identity had been based around it. It was the one thing that he had felt he had to give, that all he could do was bring what comfort he could. But everything was different now. He thought that he wasn’t made for violence, that his only options were cowardice or being as bad as the dh’oine. He knew now, no elf would ever be as bad as the dh’oine, he had witnessed it, witnessed that they would happily kill a child. But the child wasn’t dead, the child was alive because of Iorveth. His actions had been monstrous, he could still vividly remember the feel and taste of the soldier’s blood in his mouth, but wasn’t that child’s life worth him becoming monstrous? That child could live now and wasn’t that a fair price? Wasn’t that worth it?

He looked again and the instruments. He felt oddly distant from them, like they belonged to someone else. He reached out to touch them to see if he could connect with them again, but as he reached out he could see the smears of blood still coating his hands. As he touched them, they felt foreign, they felt wrong and awkward in his hands. He drew back, and looked at them again. They didn’t feel like his anymore. He knew he should just turn around and leave, leave that part of him behind. The person that these instruments belonged to, that person had died in the mud along with the soldier. He knew he should leave, but a part of him didn’t want to let go, not fully. Couldn’t he keep one part, one small part of that person he was? He stood there frozen in an eternal moment of indecision. He knew what leaving them meant, he knew that it would forever change him, but he also knew it was only right after what had happened. He stepped forward, his hands seeming to move at another's call. He picked up one of his flutes, his favourite one, the one he had played for Adhamh that night they had first met. He took it, turned away, picked up his pack and left. 

-

Roche had slept badly the last few days. He kept going over what Iorveth had said the last time they had met. He knew the basics of the history between elves and humans, but if he was honest with himself he had never really thought about it too deeply. Particularly not from the elves’ perspective.

_“Most of my people have been systematically wiped out, and those that are left live as second class citizens in their own lands. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch nearly everyone you know die by the hands of invaders?”_

Iorveth’s words kept running round in his head. What would it be like to lose everyone he cared about? The Stripes? His Ma? His King? What would it be like to lose Temeria? The thought of it made his chest ache.

_“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect my people...I would rather die carrying the weight of those actions if it meant my people could live freely.”_

Roche knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Temeria, to protect his friends and his family, to serve Foltest. It seemed that in some ways him and Iorveth were not so different. The thought made him kind of uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It wasn’t that he hated having similarities to Iorveth, he already knew those were numerous. It was something about understanding the darkest part of another. Iorveth had done horrible, vicious things in pursuit of protecting his people. Hadn’t Roche done the same? Wouldn’t he do the same if he was given the orders?

He lay there, staring up at the canvas roof of his tent, trying to make sense of it and finding the task impossible.

-

Roche had been in two minds as to whether he should go to the clearing. He had slept so poorly that his mind felt foggy and he had been irritable with his men all day. After the last time, Roche wasn’t sure Iorveth would even be there, but an ever growing part of him felt a strong draw to the elf. He wanted to go even if he was tired and it turned out the elf wasn’t there. After snarling unfairly at Silas for dropping a load of firewood, he decided that the walk at least would do his mood some good.

He arrived at the clearing and saw Iorveth immediately, he was sitting on the rock at the base of the waterfall. Roche’s chest clenched oddly, he knew it meant something that Iorveth had returned. He stepped out into the clearing and Iorveth looked up. 

“Where is your vielle?” he asked curiously. Roche stopped and felt his stomach drop slightly. He had been so wrapped up in his lack of sleep and indecision that he had completely forgotten his vielle.

“I errr forgot.” Roche said uselessly. Iorveth gave him a strange look.

“You forgot when it’s the whole reason we are here?” Iorveth asked pointedly.

“Yeah I guess I did.” Roche replied, now completely unsure what to do with himself. They stayed there awkwardly for several long moments. Roche wracked his brain for something to say. He didn’t want to leave now. He didn’t just come here for the music, he came here because he wanted to see the elf. “We could, I mean I could listen to you play?” he offered, trying to cut through the awkwardness. 

“I suppose.” Iorveth said looking up at him with a curious look in his eyes. Roche felt awkward standing up when the elf was sitting so he quickly sat himself down on the grass and looked at Iorveth expectantly. Iorveth’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something, but he simply raised the flute to his lips instead.

The song he played was different from the others he had played before, it had a solemn more sedate pace. It felt elegant but sad. It seemed to twirl around in almost a dance like fashion, yet it was far slower than most dances Roche had ever seen. It was enchanting and soft and Roche felt his whole body relax and soften with it. Iorveth’s face had that peaceful look on it that he got when he played. His eyes had drifted shut and his shoulders had softened. As the song quietly tailed off, Roche realised he was staring at Iorveth, Iorveth met his gaze as he opened his eyes. They stayed looking into each other's eyes for a moment before Iorveth looked away.

“You’re staring dh’oine.” Iorveth said, not unkindly. Roche could feel himself flush at the words. 

“It’s just, you play so well. I don’t think I have ever heard someone play the flute like you.” Roche replied, avoiding the elf’s eyes.

“Well...I have had over a thousand years to practice at this point.” Iorveth said with a slight huff of a laugh. “Would you like to try? I can show you how.” He offered the flute to Roche.

Roche took the flute without thinking, he was surprised Iorveth had offered such a thing. It was beautiful, it had a deep peach and tan colored hues with a rich, exquisite grain pattern. It had been expertly carved but he could certainly tell its age by the smoothing that had occurred at various points. Presumably where Iorveth’s fingers had worn them down over the centuries of playing. He felt strange holding it, it felt so personal. He looked back up at Iorveth, he had moved down from the rock and was sat opposite him.

“It’s made from Cherry. Carved this one myself when my old one got snapped.” Iorveth said.

“You made this?” Roche asked, impressed. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Elves are good at making beautiful things.” Iorverth said almost wistfully. “Ok, raise it to your chin. Place it against your chin but make sure you leave the hole pretty open, you don’t want to be covering more than a quarter of it.” Roche followed his instructions and waited. “Now you want to blow over the hole. You want some air going inside of it and some out of it. That creates the note.”

Roche tried blowing over the hole, but no sound came out. Iorveth snorted and moved a bit closer.

“You are going to need to use much more force and precision than that. When you blow, you need the air to be focussed to a point not going outwards at an angle. Keep your upper lip close to your teeth.” Iorveth instructed. Roche tried to follow Iorveth’s instructions and tried again, still no sound came out. 

“It’s not working.” he said, frustrated. 

“You need to put more power behind it.” Iorveth said. Roche tried again and put all the power he could behind it, but only succeeded in making himself splutter. At this Iorveth fell back laughing. “Maybe not that much power.”

“Then maybe I just can’t do it.” he huffed, shoving the flute back to Iorveth. He could feel himself blushing at Iorveth’s laughter.

“Come now, it takes time to learn. Hmmm, though that’s a point.” Iorveth said tailing off as he looked round the clearing. His eyes lit up when they laid on the Goat Willow. “Hang on.” he said as he got up and started inspecting the thinner branches, the ones that must only be a couple of years old. He selected one that was long and straight. He took his knife off his belt and expertly hacked off the branch. He carried it over to the flat rock and settled down with it in front of him.

Roche watched curiously. Iorveth moved his hand expertly up the branch until he found a section about eight finger widths wide that had no leaves sprouting from it. He placed his knife over where we wanted to cut and used a small nearby rock to knock the blade to get a clean cut. He repeated this on the other side so he now had a short length of willow.

“What are you doing?” Roche asked finally.

“Making a whistle.” Iorveth replied, neatening off both ends of the stick carefully with his knife. “Thought maybe it would be prudent to start you on something more simple. A whistle like this was actually the first instrument I was ever given as a child.”

“Oh yeah?” Roche asked. He found the idea of Iorveth as a child strange. Objectively he knew the fearsome elf must’ve been a child at some point, but imagining him as small and innocent just made him feel odd. He was drawn to it almost, he wanted to know more about him, more about his past, more about the person he was behind the front he showed.

“I am still not quite sure why my brother thought to give me quite such an annoying instrument, but it's good practice for learning to make animal calls. It’s also useful for communicating across the forest.” Iorveth said as he started to carve one end of the stick at an angle. His movements were quick and careful and soon he had finished with the angled end. He then moved a bit further down the wood, turned it over and made a small incision straight down. Using his thumb on the back of the blade he cut a very precise wedge out of the wood. 

“Making animal calls? What for?” Roche asked curiously.

“For hunting mostly. You can affect an animal’s behaviour by making different calls. Social or mating calls to attract or calm them, alarm calls or calls of predators if you want them to run. I was particularly adept at making them. Used to get taken on hunts just for that purpose.”

“Can you show me?” Roche asked. He was fascinated by the idea, it was so different from how he and his men hunted which relied more on tracking and wearing animals down before shooting them.

“Sure.” Iorveth put down his knife and the wood and reached into one of his pouches. We took out what appeared to be a semicircle of hide with something that looked like dried and cured gut across it. Iorveth popped it into his mouth. Iorveth moved his lips and the sound that came out was an almost perfect imitation of the long rattling call of a wren. He then made the unmistakable mewling cry of a buzzard and almost immediately he was answered by a ripple of alarm calls from the surrounding trees. He then transitioned into the long lilting call of a blackbird. When he was finished he popped the piece of hide from his mouth and wiped it carefully on his gambeson and replaced it in the pouch.

“That was...impressive.” Roche said eyebrows raise. He wasn’t aware it was possible to imitate birds quite so effectively.

“Yes, well it's a useful skill. Useful way of communicating in secret. You choose calls of birds that either are not found in the woods or that it is not the season for and you have an easily picked out, rather loud way of signalling to those around you. Very helpful when... hunting.” Iorveth looked away as he said the last bit as though he had let something slip. Roche quietly filed this information away. Who knows when it might be useful? 

Iorveth picked up his knife and the wood again, he measured about three fingers down from the wedge cut and carefully scored around the wood, making sure only to cut into the bark. After completing this, he placed the wood on the rock in front of him and, using the handle of his blade, began tapping the wood, turning it as he went. 

“This would be so much easier in Spring.” Iorveth muttered to himself as he went.

After a few minutes of this Roche could start to see beads of sap well to the surface of the cuts Iorveth had made. Iorveth stopped tapping and held the stick in his hands and twisted it back and forth for a few seconds before gently pushing the bark up and off in one whole piece. He placed this carefully to one side and started working on making the wedge cut more defined and flattening out a portion all the way to the end. Once the wedge was deep smooth and even, Iorveth reached for the bark again and carefully slipped it back over the stick, completing the whistle.

“Done.” Iorveth said looking at the whistle appraisingly. “Now lets see how well it works. Come close so you can hear it properly.” Iorveth’s face had what looked to be genuine enthusiasm as he spoke, so Roche eagerly moved closer so he was only a few feet from Iorveth. Iorveth smiled widely and brought the whistle to his lips and blew hard.

The noise was shrill and loud. It hurt Roche’s ears as he brought his hands up to cover them. Iorveth collapsed into a fit of giggles as he brought the whistle down from his lips.

“You fucking bastard.” Roche swore.

“I can’t believe you fell for that. Are all dh’oine so gullible?” Iorveth cackled. Eventually he composed himself and sat back up. He handed the whistle to Roche. “There you go, so you can practice being an annoying child. I can say from personal experience it is great practice for playing the flute.”

Roche took the whistle. He looked down at it, it was fairly rough hewn, Iorveth had only spent about ten minutes carving it after all. He felt a warmth surge through him. Iorveth had made it for him, he was strangely touched. He brought it up to his lips and blew, the loud shrill noise piercing through the forest. After Iorveth’s prank, an idea for his own was forming in his mind. He grinned to himself. He looked back up at Iorveth and smiled.

“Thank you.” he said.

“Don’t mention it. At least now I will hear you coming.” Iorveth said as he stood up and turned to climb up the rock face. “Goodbye Vernon.”

##  **XII**

It had been quite a few weeks since they had managed to meet at the waterfall. The nights were getting longer and there were only so many hours in the day to get what needed to be done completed. Iorveth headed to the edge of the waterfall, treading carefully on the ice. It was cold, there wasn’t snow on the ground, but the frosts were becoming harder and the icy nip in the air told him it wouldn’t be long. He climbed carefully down the rock face, his glove clad fingers feeling the cold of the rock even through the rabbit fur. When he got to the bottom he blew into his hands to warm them. 

He looked out at the forest. The trees mostly bare of leaves save for the few hollies dotted throughout the undergrowth. Closer to his camp there was a rather beautiful squat yew tree. Despite their toxic nature, Iorveth had always liked yew trees, something about their twisted rough bark appealed to him. He stamped his feet against the cold and considered whether lighting his pipe would be too extravagant. Just as he was about to take out his pipe he heard the familiar sound of Roche crashing through the grey willow thicket. It was a wonder that the dh’oine could manage stealth at all considering the amount of noise he made when he wasn’t paying attention. 

Iorveth smiled to himself, he had a fair bit of pent up energy from the inactivity of long winter nights and fancied some fun. Roche clearly had no idea he was here already, so Iorveth crept down the side of a particularly dense part of the willow thicket. He crouched and waited for his prey to emerge. 

Roche walked clear of the ticket, he looked up at the waterfall, clearly checking to see if Iorveth was there. An excellent distraction Iorveth thought as he creeped closer behind the dh’oine. A mirthful grin tugged at his lips he got in close behind Roche without him realising. Iorveth waited several seconds, enjoying the inattention of the dh’oine, before leaning closer and announcing his presence right next to the dh’oine’s ear.

“You really should be more careful walking alone in the woods this close to nightfall.” Iorveth said the shit eating grin evident in every word. Much to Iorveth’s delight, Roche gasped and swore before tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to get away from the unexpected noise next to his ear. Iorveth collapsed into breathless laughter watching the expression on Roche’s face go from shock to relief to annoyance.

“Fuck sake Iorveth...you fucking cunt, that nearly gave me a heart attack.” Roche gasped out.

“Not my fault you are so oblivious to your surroundings.” Iorveth grinned, taking great pleasure in one upping the dh’oine. 

“Yeah...well you did fucking get me...I’ll give you that.” Roche said as his breathing slowed back down, a grin starting to tug at his lips too. “I hope you know there will be retribution.”

“I mean...you can try.” Iorveth said, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“Just you wait.” Roche said good humouredly.

“Good thing elves have long lifetimes then.” Iorveth said with a smirk. He walked over to the large flat rock and sat down as he got out his flute. Roche followed him as he got out his vielle.

“It’s been so cold this last week, I’ve barely practiced at all.” he said as he pulled his gloves off so he could start tuning it.

“Can certainly feel it in my bones at night.” Iorveth said as he pulled off his own gloves. The cold was biting but not quite enough that he couldn’t play.

“I can’t believe it’s Yule in two days. Not sure where the autumn has gone.” Roche said, trying a few quick scales.

“Yeah, the solstice has come round quickly this year.” Iorveth said before putting his flute to his lips and launching into a tune he remembered from the solstice celebrations of his youth. It was a very simple tune, but it had all the joy and warmth that many of those kinds of folks songs had. 

Roche listened for several bars before joining in, improvising over the top. This kind of song really suited his style of playing, fast joyful fiddle playing. After a little while Iorveth backed off his playing and let Roche flow into a song of his own. It had a strong rhythm, Roche had actually begun stomping his foot along with it, it gave Iorveth the impression that the song was normally performed with drumming. He improvised along to it, enjoying the fast thumping feel of it. They played for a little while but stopped when the biting cold started to make their fingers go numb.

“Not so much fun playing in the cold.” Roche said putting his gloves back on and rubbing his hands together.

“Not so much.” Iorveth said, putting his own gloves back on. “That song you played towards the end. I liked that, where is it from?”

“Oh that, well it’s a traditional wassailing song. Felt appropriate considering the time of year.” Roche said, sticking his hands in his armpits to warm them. 

“What’s wassailing?” Iorveth asked curiously. Roche chuckled and looked wistful.

“A human Yule tradition. On the eve before Yule the poor gang together and go to the houses of the nobles and sing until they are given food and beer.” Roche said with a smile.

“And what if they didn’t give you any?” Iorveth asked as he got his pipe out.

“Well you just sing more loudly and obnoxiously. They normally give in after a while just to get you to go away. But sometimes it devolves into slightly more...raucous efforts shall we say.” Roche replied.

“You trash the place?” Iorveth said, raising an amused eyebrow. He had got out his pipeweed and began the process of packing the bowl carefully with the weed.

“Basically. By the time you have been around a few places you are so full of beer descending into some kind of riot is almost inevitable...you going to share some of that?” Roche said looking pointedly at the pipe.

“Will you sing obnoxiously if I don’t?” Iorveth asked with a grin.

“Don’t tempt me, elf.” Roche said a competitive gleam in his eye.

“Maybe I want to hear your singing.” Iorveth said pointedly lighting the pipe and taking a long drag.

“You asked for it.” Roche said before loudly bursting into song.

_We've been a -while a wandering_

_Amongst the leaves so green._

_But now we come a wassailing_

_So plainly to be seen,_

_For it's Yule time, when we travel far and near;_

_May gods bless you and send you a happy New Year._

His voice was deep and rich and carried the tune well even without accompaniment. Iorveth found himself smiling as he took another pointed drag from the pipe. Roche raised his eyebrows in challenge and raised his volume even further. 

_We've got a little purse;_

_Made of leathern ratchin skin;_

_We want a little of your money_

_To line it well within;_

_For it's Yule time, when we travel far and near;_

_May gods bless you and send you a happy New Year._

Roche had now begun to gesticulate dramatically along with his singing. Leaning close so the powerful sound of his voice was a little uncomfortably close to Iorveth’s ear.

_Bring us out a table_

_And spread it with a cloth,_

_Bring us out a mouldy cheese_

_And some of your Christmas loaf;_

_For it's Yule time, when we travel far and near;_

_May gods bless you and send you a happy New Year._

As he sang the last line he smoothly plucked the pipe from Iorveth and took a deep drag as he finished.

“I don’t think I have ever felt so threatened while someone has sung me blessings.” Iorveth laughed.

“Well...that is the desired effect.” Roche grinned in return as he took another drag on the pipe. “This is good shit. Might even be better than PT’s and that is saying something.”

“As in many things, elven pipeweed is superior.” Iorveth said, taking the pipe back.

“For once I won’t disagree.” Roche said with a smile. 

They shared the pipe back and forth in silence for a while. The dark had begun to creep in, so now when Roche pulled on the pipe, the small glow from the bowl lit up his features in a delicate orange light. His face looked relaxed and soft in a way Iorveth hadn’t seen before, he looked younger and Iorveth found himself fascinated by it. When Roche looked up to pass the pipe back Iorveth caught himself staring and looked away quickly. The pipeweed must have kicked in if he was staring at Vernon Roche’s face.

“So what do elves do for Yule?” Roche asked. The question caught Iorveth off guard after the extended silence. He blinked at Roche, trying to pull his thoughts together against the weed.

“Oh, well for elves, stars are sacred. We travelled here from them and our ancestors live within them. They give us guidance and protect us during the darkest days. The Winter Solstice being the longest night is the longest time we can spend with them.” Iorveth said, looking up to the sky where the first few of the brightest stars were beginning to show.

“That makes a certain sense.” Roche said. “How do you celebrate?”

“We give thanks to the stars. The more devout meditate and star gaze. The rest of us get drunk and make wishes on the stars for the year to come. It was a bit different back when I was young, we had the means for bigger celebrations then. Every year the village where I grew up took part in a midnight hunt.” Iorveth said wistfully.

“What does that involve? Did you hunt boar or deer or something?” Roche asked, taking the pipe back.

“Neither actually. Elves are naturally more closely attuned with plant life, we can sense them and understand the world by them. Plants can tell you everything you need to know about the world around you: what the soil is like, what animals might be near, how close you are to water, all sorts of things. Around the solstice is when most plants have died back for Winter. The Solstice marks when the year is turning back to the light, and with the light comes new growth. There are a few sacred plants that flower in the depths of Winter; Winter Honeysuckle, Snowdrops and Winter Aconite. Sometimes you will find them as early as the solstice, finding them is supposed to bring good luck for the year to come. During a midnight hunt you gather together to run through the woods in search of the flowers. If you manage to find some then there will be a blessing on you and your family for the year to come.” Iorveth said, he felt a sad yet happy kind of weight in his chest remembering those times.

“Sounds like fun.” Roche said, taking another drag.

“Mostly it was just an excuse to get drunk and run around the woods in the dark.” Iorveth laughed. “It was always a big event if someone actually found some. Then that was a good excuse for even more drinking.”

“Tis the season.” Roche smiled.

“Not much else to do in Winter.” Iorveth agreed.

“Do you not do midnight hunts anymore?” Roche asked. Iorveth was slightly taken aback by the question.

“Not much anymore. It was much more a rural tradition, and well most of those elves were killed either during the wars or at Loc Muinne. And now...it’s just not safe to run freely in the woods like that. So we just drink and thank the stars we are still here to see them at all.” Iorveth sighed, a slight bitter note to his voice. Roche’s face tightened in response, he looked at Iorveth for a few long moments.

“Why don’t we do something? You know...after we have put the drunken idiots to bed.” Roche asked. Iorveth looked back at Roche, he was surprised by the invitation. Why would Roche want to spend the solstice with him? They were on opposing sides, despite this strange bond that was forming. Iorveth searched his face for any kind of irony but found nothing. He stayed silent considering what Roche had asked, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to, something kept drawing him back here, back to Roche.

“What did you have in mind?” Iorveth asked carefully.

“I don’t know. Just a drink, look at the stars...you know whatever you elves like to do?” Roche said looking away a touch of colour showing on his cheeks.

“So not going and singing obnoxiously loudly at some nobles then?” Iorveth said with a teasing grin.

“I mean not many of them around here. Unless you know some woodland creatures doing a bit too well for themselves?” Roche replied with an equally teasing grin.

“There is this fox near our camp that looks the type, nose always in the air. Think he could spare us a few rabbits.” Iorveth replied good humouredly. 

“Pfft. Then how about it then? After we have finished with our camp’s celebrations we can meet here, have a drink and harass some snooty foxes?” Roche looked at him imploringly and Iorveth found he couldn’t really say no such a suggestion.

“Yeah ok.” he replied with a smile.

“Ok...good. See you then.” Roche said as he straightened up and headed back off into the woods.

-

The Blue Stripes camp felt warm and cheerful despite the midwinter chill. Roche smiled as he looked around at his soldiers, all had colour high on their cheeks all in different stages of drunkenness. Ves was sat with Thirteen playing some kind of complex drinking game involving cards and dice. Thirteen appeared to be losing judging by the slumped way he was sitting in his chair. Ves had a manic gleam in her eye which Roche knew only came from besting someone. 

PT, Shorty and Silas sat around the fire talking animatedly over their mugs of ale. They were sharing stories of their families back home. PT told a story about his mother and how one year she had used some of her connections as the head of the Gors Vellen mob to steal a shipment of fine wine right from under the nobles noses and share it throughout the rundown parts of town as a Yuletide treat. Shorty shared a number of stories about his sixteen children and various shenanigans they had got up to around Yule. One included one of his now older daughters, who had dropped a ragdoll in the Yule cake before it was baked, much to the horror of Sofia, his wife, when she cut into it. Silas spoke of quiet evenings spent talking with his father before he passed. 

Roche looked round the camp and spotted Fenn and Finch sat back a little from the fire talking. They really thought they were being subtle, but Roche could see the looks they shared as they played a loud game of dice poker. Mostly loud because Fenn shouted his displeasure whenever he lost...or won. Finch simply sat there his lips occasionally twitching up in a subtle smile if Fenn was being a particularly bad loser. He was honestly surprised none of the other Stripes had noticed yet...but then most of them were not known for their observational skills.

“It would almost be cute...if it was anyone else.” Sheridan’s smooth heavily Toussaint accented voice came out of the dark behind Roche. 

“Ahh so someone else has noticed. Was wondering if I was the only one.” Roche grinned, looking over his shoulder and seeing the vampire approach. Sheridan was one of the more unusual additions to the Stripes. He was only officially there down to some particularly good forging of papers on Silas’s part after Sheridan had found them in the forest south of Ellander. 

“You, er, not drinking tonight?” Roche asked before taking a sip of his ale. He had been specifically taking it easy so he was still conscious for meeting Iorveth later. 

“Not yet.” Sheridan grinned. “Have to wait for the drink to...mature shall we say.”

“More like pickle itself.” Roche snorted. “Speaking of, Thirteen looks like he’s losing against Ves...might be a good bet.” Sheridan laughed.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Sheridan said.

“Well then….er cheers I guess.” Roche said as he raised his mug of ale in a toast. Sheridan smiled as he walked across to Thirteen and whispered something in his ear. The two of them slipped off, only to return about five minutes later. Sheridan was now rosy cheeked and stumbling slightly, Thirteen was leaning on him with a neat bandage showing below his rolled up sleeve.

Roche watched them all for a moment. He was proud of what he had achieved with this team, even if it was never really noticed by anyone else but him. It was still his finest work and he was sure this unit was capable of anything. 

As he watched, his mind started to wander. He was excited about tonight. He had missed seeing Iorveth over the last few weeks and seeing him twice in as many days felt like a treat. His chest felt light with butterflies, was that nerves? He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. Maybe it was going out in the forest at night. That must be it. He was just excited to spend time with Iorveth outside of their music, not to say he didn’t enjoy playing with the elf. He really did, but the last few times when they had spent time talking he had found himself more and more fascinated by him. He wanted to know everything about him, he wanted to know what he was like to share a drink with. He felt his fingers start to twitch with the excess energy of anticipation. He really must do something to distract himself or one of the others might notice his nervous, excited energy.

“Ok lads, song time!” he said loudly. The Stripes all cheered and began to move themselves closer. Roche got out his vielle and tuned it up. Once he had, he launched straight into a Yule song that he knew was a favourite.

_Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;_

_For our Blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale._

_Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran,_

_Nor bring us in no white bread, there therein is no game;_

_But bring us in good ale._

The Stripes sang along loudly, and surprisingly in tune considering the amount of ale and hooch the group of them and consumed. Fenn started banging his mug on his seat and didn’t take long for the others to follow suit.

_Bring us in no beef, for there is many bones,_

_But bring us in good ale, for that goes down at once;_

_And bring us in good ale._

_Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat,_

_But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that;_

_And bring us in good ale._

Roche smiled as he played, this song had always had a special place in his heart. It reminded him of the few good times spent in the army and a few of the happy memories from his childhood. Yule was one of the few times of year where people were kinder to him and his Ma. It helped that both of them were good musicians and one of the blessings of being so was that they were in demand during times of celebration. The only reason he had ever been invited wassailing was because he could play...that and he had been well known for having a particularly loud voice.

_Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,_

_But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else;_

_And bring us in good ale._

_Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs;_

_Nor bring us in no pig's flesh, for that will make us boars;_

_And bring us in good ale._

_Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;_

_For our Blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale._

He finished the song with a drunken cheer from the Stripes. He grinned at them. “Another?” he asked and they cheered in response. He cycled through a mixture of his favourite wassailing songs and a few slower folks songs about firelight, midwinter and snow. Eventually his arms and the Stripes voices tired and Roche put his vielle away before flopping in a chair with a fresh mug of ale.

“I do miss being at the Ellander base at Yule.” Fenn sighed. “Singing outside the General’s quarters until they gave us more beer was always a good time.”

“You just like any excuse to be loud and annoying.” Finch said with a grin.

“Hey! Didn’t see you being a quiet little wallflower last year.” Fenn said indignantly. “In fact as I recall you were pissed as a badger and tripped over a chair and knocked a whole cook pot off the fire….soup everywhere…like a battlefield masacre...only vegetables. Woke half the camp up.”

“Pfft as if you're one to talk, Fenn. Remember that time you knocked over a torch and set fire to that Constable’s tent.” Thirteen snickered.

“Yeah.” Fenn said a wistful happy look in his eyes. “Excellent blaze. Was that asshole Gideon’s tent to boot. He went plain red as a beet in rage when he came back to the remains.”

“Yeah...and who had to take the flack for that, you pyromaniac asshole?” Roche asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Pfft, you hate Gideon….don’t think I didn’t see the gleam in your eye when you apologised profusely for the ‘ _inconvenience.’_ ” Ves laughed.

“I mean come on? The man is an utter cunt.” Roche retorted.

“Here here!” cheered Fenn. “To Gideon’s outraged beetroot face.” he said, raising his mug.

“I’ll drink to that.” said Roche with a chuckle. The rest of the Stripes joined in with overly loud drunken cheering. They simmered down for a little while until finally Shorty spoke.

“I hate being so far from home this time of year. Sophia always makes the best Yule duck, and the kids are always in such high spirits.” he sighed and stared into his ale.

“How’s Tilly doing?” Ves asked with a smile and Shorty instantly perked up.

“Sophia says she's doing very well. Sounds like those throwing knives you gave her went down a treat...well at least they did with Tilly...less so with Sophia. You might owe her a few drinks and a new set of wine glasses when we get back.” Shorty replied, his eyes bright. 

“Haha! That’s my girl! And...thanks for the heads up.” Ves snorted.

“I like Tilly, she’s definitely the most fun out of your lot.” Fenn said with his chin leant on his hands.

“Only ‘cause she's as bonkers as you. I like Charlie, she has the righ’ idea the whole world _is_ shit and should just piss off.” Thirteen said, slurring his words. 

“Of course you would like the grumpy teenager the best.” PT shook his head with a smile. “You basically still are one.”

“Hey! ‘S not my fault that teenagers know wha’ s’up.” Thirteen replied indignantly, swaying slightly before flopping back onto Sheriden who hiccuped loudly in response.

Roche sat back in his seat and enjoyed watching his team drink and be merry. He felt his cheeks warm from the ale and his chest warm from the presence of what basically amounted to his family at this point. He cherished these moments where they could just enjoy each other’s company without the threat of violence or the sometimes oppressive environment of an army base. However, as the night drew on Roche found himself wishing they would all hurry up and go to bed so he could leave to see Iorveth.

Finch and Fenn were the first to head to bed. Probably so they could catch a few precious moments together without anyone else noticing. Shorty went off next, claiming he was too old for all nighters now. Roche talked and drank with Ves for a while, Silas sat sleepily at Ves’ feet with his head resting on her knee. Silas had never been great at keeping up with the other’s drinking. Roche smiled quietly, he had always found the soft spot Ves had for the young recruit quite endearing. When he started snoring Roche looked at Ves and nodded his head towards the tents.

“Looks like it’s past his bedtime.”

“Looks like it. I’ll take him. You ok dealing with...that.” Ves waved her hand the mess that was the pile of a very drunk Sheridan and Thirteen on top of PT. PT looked like he had smoked several pipes by this point, his eyes had a red rimmed and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Roche sighed, this would be a challenge.

“Somebody has to.” he said ruefully, before flashing Ves a grin. “Go on, get Silas to bed. I can handle them.”

“Alright, night Boss.” she replied before hauling Silas over her shoulder and heading towards the tents.

Roche looked at the pile of idiots and sighed as he pushed himself up.

“Ok, you lot. Time to turn in.” Roche barked. The command was met with groans from PT and booing from Thirteen and Sheridan. “Come on get up.”

“Can’t, I’m stuck.” PT said, indicating the two bodies sprawled across him. Roche raised an eyebrow at PT they both knew they could lift both soldiers easily. He turned his gaze to Sheridan. He was the drunkest Roche could ever remember seeing him. His cheeks were pink and his golden curls hung in a wild mess around his boyish face. 

“Look how fuckin’ pissed Sherry is. Can’t possibly leave ’im like this.” Thirteen slurred latching onto to Sheriden like a limpet. 

“Unhand me peasant!” Sheridan squawked, trying to struggle out of Thirteen’s hold. He looked like a cat who was being picked up and held too tightly by a toddler. Roche looked down and pinched between his brows, this was going to be more work than he anticipated. He slowly edged closer to the pile of steaming drunks and expertly plucked Sheridan from Thirteen’s grasp. He hauled him up onto his unsteady legs and slung one of his arms around his shoulders.

“Unfair!” cried Thirteen from where he was sprawled on top of PT. 

“My hero.” Sheridan slurred close to Roche’s ear, before sloppily kissing his cheek. Roche shook his head and started hauling the drunken vampire towards his tent.

“Don’t thank me yet. I am putting you to bed.” Roche said. 

“Always the party pooper.” Sheridan pouted, his Tousaint accent sounding even stronger in his drunken state. He deposited Sheridan on his cot without much bother, the vampire simply hiccuped at him and repeatedly asked for a goodnight kiss. Roche laughed as he stood up.

“Guess you waited too long for that drink to mature, eh?” he joked as he made to leave. He was greatly amused by the vampire’s state, it was so unusual to see him with such a lack of composure. 

“ ‘ave you ever considered that I waited precisely the right amount of time?” Sheridan slurred with a toothy smile. Roche snorted and turned to leave.

“I will ask you that in the morning.” Roche laughed.

Getting Thirteen to bed was, as always, the most trouble. In the end, he resorted to simply picking up the scrambling half-elf up and slinging his lanky body over his shoulder. Thirteen banged his fists against his back all the way to his tent, but quietened down considerably when he was wrapped in the pile of blankets from his cot. Roche rolled his eyes, it was the same every time.

By the time he returned to PT the man was already sat up, his eyes still looking hazy. Roche looked down at him and PT smiled up at him.

“Please don’t make me carry you to your tent, not sure my back could take it.” Roche grinned.

“And who do you think would be dealing with your back if you did injure it?” PT replied with an answering smile. “Could use a hand up though?”

“Sure thing big guy.” Roche reached out a hand and helped haul the mountain of man to his feet. 

“See you in the morning Boss.” PT said fondly as he walked to his own tent.

Roche let out a contented sigh. Finally, the idiots were in bed and he could leave to meet Iorveth. He felt his stomach flutter at the thought.

-

  
  


The Scoiat’eal who currently resided in the forest camp south of Flotsam were a mixture of elves, dwarves and the occasional halfling. This camp was the central point from which Iorveth’s part of the Scoia’tael operated from. He had several generals under him and there were a couple of other splinter groups that had formed for specific purposes like gathering supplies or weaponry. Winter was a hard time to be living rough so it was common for most of the generals, their comandos and any splinter groups to return here for Winter. For elves the Winter Solstice was an important time for them to be together. The dwarves and halflings would happily join in with the celebrations, but their own holidays did not relate to the solar calendar. 

Unlike most years, Iorveth had spent most of the evening wishing for the festivities to end. He was keen to get away and meet with Roche. He had grown to look forward to their meetings, more so than almost anything else at the moment. 

He sat on the edge of things with Ciaren, Imadia, Rinn and Morlias. They had been passing round a pipe and drinking some fairly weak ale for most of the evening. He stayed mostly quiet as the others chatted around him and watched as the camp celebrated the Solstice around him.

Maeral was playing a version of chess where they drank a shot for every piece taken. She was still surprisingly sober while most of her team who had already played her were in varying states of drunkenness, sprawled around the table where the chess board was set. Mona was slumped on the floor with her head in Delvan’s lap, Delvan looked fairly out of it whilst stroking her hair. Shinola was Maeral’s current opponent and was admittedly doing the best so far, her aggressive style had actually meant Maeral had taken several shots and the tipsiness was beginning to show in her slightly raised voice and loud laughter. Icca was watching the game closely and giving out bad advice that neither player was listening too.

Sylver and Taredd had spent most of the evening dolling out their homebrew to anyone who had the stomach to drink it. Now, they were both leaning against a tree chatting animatedly to Ky. Ky had clearly had had quite a bit of said homebrew and her cheeks had turned rather pink. Iorveth watched them with interest, there was always something vaguely flirtatious between the three of them but he was never entirely sure in which directions the attraction ran or how serious it was. He had shared a couple of looks with Imadia and knew she shared his curiosity and was also watching with the occasional smirk.

On the other side of the camp many of the younger elves were getting loud and boisterous. They were using any available excuse to compete with each other. Earlier, when they had been slightly more sober they had been racing each other up and down trees, El’yas appeared to have won that game. They were now trying to outdo each other with ever more daring feats of archery. So far, Lorcán had managed to hit a target from the furthest distance and they were now trying to see who could fire the most arrows at once. Doran was currently in the lead with ten. He was quietly surprised there had been no injuries yet, but...give them time.

Most of the rest of the Scoia’tael were gathered in small groups drinking and talking animatedly. Iorveth liked this part of the evening, everyone was in good spirits and enjoying one another's company. It was later in the evening that he dreaded when they all had had too much to drink. Everyone here had stories of lost family and lost homes and the alcohol often served to bring about tears, rage and regret. Most of the time this precipitated a general move of people towards their beds.

Iorveth chatted quietly with the group around him for a few hours more. He could feel his leg start to jiggle with impatience. The move towards bed was slow, likely due to the dry clear night. The elves were enjoying their clear view of the stars and the rest were enjoying the drink. Iorveth wondered if he could get away with slipping away before the majority of people had gone to bed. Could he cry off with a headache...or just say he was going for a walk? But, what if someone asked to join him?

By the time Rinn and then Ciaren left for their beds about half the camp had headed off too. The night was drawing on and he just wanted to get away. Eventually he thought fuck it, and rose to made his excuses. He said he had a headache to which Imadia insisted he go and get himself some willow bark. To keep up the pretense, he made a show of going to where they kept the medical supplies. While pretending to look for the willow bark he came across a very interesting bottle someone had clearly left there from earlier in the evening. He grinned and tucked it inside his cloak, tonight was going to be interesting indeed. 

-

Iorveth walked the now familiar path through the woods to his waterfall. The night was bright, the moon being full this solstice. It had taken longer than he had expected to get away from his camp, even slipping past drunkards required some skill and patience. 

Iorveth hurried along the last half a mile of the narrow path, likely formed by the relentless habit of badgers. He was excited to see Roche again, the strange draw he felt towards the dh’oine pulling at him incessantly. He tried not to think about it too much, or guilt and fear at what it meant would start to creep up his spine like a sense of foreboding. Sometimes he wrestled with the feeling for days often resolving not to go back...until invariably he found himself back at the waterfall. The strange thing was that as soon as he was in the dh’oine’s presence again all those feelings washed away and he just felt...peaceful? He didn’t want to know what that meant. 

He reached the waterfall and looked over it. The forest was truly beautiful in the moonlight. The cold, crisp night air was clear, he could see for miles ahead of him over the treetops. For a second he breathed the view in, it was nights like this that he really felt his connection to the nature that surrounded him. It was a pleasant sensation of smallness in the face of the enormity of what was living. That he was at once part of something bigger yet he was also entirely inconsequential. Considering his life, there was comfort in feeling like what he did had no real consequence. 

“Are you going to stand there all night?” Roche’s voice came clear and loud from below him. Iorveth smiled and looked down. He hadn’t noticed Roche leaning against the rock face below him. He was feeling the warmth and cockiness from several ales, so he swung himself down and landed purposefully a bit too close to make the dh’oine jump. “Fuck sake, no need to ploughing land on me.” Roche huffed.

“Not my fault your reactions are sub-par.” Iorveth grinned, his face only a few inches from Roche’s. He stepped aside and sat down, leaning his back against the rock face.

“Yeah, well I had to sit through quite a few rounds before the idiots decided to go to bed.” Roche sighed, slumping down next to Iorveth.

“That bad?” Iorveth chuckled.

“I am not sure what’s harder trying to persuade a man the size of a mountain to get up and walk to his tent, or carrying a scrawny man so drunk he is basically a toddler to his.” Roche shook his head as he spoke.

“Your unit sounds like...a handful.” Iorveth said.

“That they are.” Roche replied. “Though judging by how long it took you to get here, yours were not quick to bed either?”

“Pfft some are still up drinking the solstice away. I just managed to slip past them.” Iorveth smiled. “I also managed to snag this.” he drew a bottle out as he spoke.

“Oh? What is it?” Roche said curiously.

“Henbane beer.” Iorveth said, a glint in his eye.

“I thought henbane was poisonous.” Roche said, looking at Iorveth like he was crazy. 

“Only to a layman, there is no lethal dose as far as I know. In fact, in the correct amount it produces a rather...interesting effect.” Iorveth scoffed as he pulled the cork out the bottle with his teeth.

“And what interesting effect is that?” Roche asked, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s mildly hallucinogenic.” Iorveth replied. “Want some?” he said, offering the bottle to Roche. Roche looked at the bottle for a few long seconds before taking it.

“Sure. Why not?” Roche shrugged and took a long swig, before coughing slightly at the taste. “Fuck, that’s bitter.”

“Most ‘poisonous’ things are.” Iorveth said, taking the bottle from Roche and taking a long swig himself. He could feel a strange warmth coil inside him that was unrelated to the laced beer. Roche had taken the concoction from him and drank freely, the act was so trusting that it made Iorveth feel strange. 

The two of them leant against the rock face, staring up at the night sky, the stars twinkling lazily back at them. The night was cold and the sky was icily clear. Both of them were dressed in thick cloaks, gloves and a warm layer of alcohol induced warmth. They shared the bottle between them, sharing stories of their evenings until the bottle was finished.

“That is a lot stronger than it tastes.” Roche said a slight drunken thickness to his voice. “I can feel it in my toes already.”

“That’s the henbane.” Iorveth said with a smile. “Feels like being drunk at first.”

“Huh. So far I like it.” Roche smiled back. Iorveth looked away, back to the stars. He could feel colour rising in his cheeks that was definitely the henbane and not Roche’s smile.

“It’s a good night for the Winter Solstice, clear night to see the stars and a full moon to see the forest. Would have been the perfect night for a Midnight Hunt.” Iorveth said. Looking up at the stars he could almost feel the weight of the eons of time and light they held bare down on him. The stars were timeless and enduring compared to the lives of mortals. These were the same stars that had watched him as a boy running through forests that no longer existed, with elves that no longer existed. His ancestors in the stars had watched him then as they watched him now. Iorveth wondered what they must think of the world as it was now, what they must think of him, sat here, with Vernon Roche no less. They would likely be as ashamed of him as the elves under his command would be. He looked away from the stars quickly, the alcohol and the herbs causing his eyes to prickle with unshed tears for his past.

“Iorveth?” he heard Roche ask. “Are you ok?” Iorveth let out a long breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull his mind back to the present.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting somewhat maudlin for the past, a new elven Winter Solstice tradition it would seem.” Iorveth laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but when he looked over at Roche the man looked back at him sadly. “Fuck sake Vernon, cheer up. It's not your people being slowly wiped out.” He saw Roche flinch and turn away with a look of guilt flashing across his face. He could feel the void of everything that existed between them opening up. How could they be friends with everything that had passed between their people, with everything that was expected of both of them? How could they be here with each other?

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Roche said sadly. Iorveth frowned, this was not how he had wanted this evening to go. Life was hard enough without it bleeding into the one space they both had felt a small amount of peace.

“It’s ok. How about this: the world outside, our command, our people’s struggles, politics, everything, that lives outside this place. We don’t speak of it here. Let it live outside, so here we can just exist without its weight, just for a little while.” Iorveth said, looking over at Roche. Roche returned the look, searching Iorveth’s face for something.

“That sounds...yeah, if that’s what you want. We can do that.” Roche smiled back at him.

“Ok. That’s settled then.” Iorveth smiled back. “So...how are you finding the henbane?” Iorveth could almost feel the tension evaporate into the night air at the change of subject.

“Was mostly just feeling pretty drunk if I’m honest. Now, I’m starting to feel a bit...different...like my chest feels a bit lighter and my mouth feels a bit strange.”

“Like your tongue is but also isn’t quite your own?” Iorveth asked.

“Yeah! That’s it. Couldn’t find the words...but yeah...that is it.” Roche laughed. He sat forward, one of his legs jiggling. “I’m feeling kind of restless actually, mind walking around for a bit? Could do with warming up.”

“Henbane does love a walk.” Iorveth smiled. He pushed himself up and the two of them walked out into the clearing. Roche almost immediately started pacing absent mindedly, a smile starting to grow on his face.

“I feel good. This feels good.” he said looking to Iorveth with bright eyes. Iorveth snorted, he secretly quite enjoyed watching people take herbs for the first time. There was something refreshingly earnest about it. He could feel the henbane in his own system now. A creeping sense of joy and wonder accompanied by an excited kind of restlessness. 

“Good. Starting to feel it myself actually. Fuck, its been a while.” Iorveth said wrapping his arms around himself and stomping his feet, partly to warm up and partly to work out some of his restless energy. Roche was still pacing as he turned to Iorveth.

“I kind of feel like running. Is that strange?” he asked, eyes bright. 

“Not at all.” Iorveth laughed. “I always feel like running on Solstice even without the henbane.” He did kind of long to run, that kind of running that was carefree and without purpose, just for the joy of movement.

“Then let's do it.” Roche said, stepping closer.

“Do what? Run?” Iorveth asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I mean not just run...why don’t we do that Midnight Hunt thing you were telling me about.”

“You want to...what?” Iorveth was quite taken aback by the suggestion. Roche looked at him with bright eyes and an expression that was only ever held by children or those who were not sober.

“Yes! Let’s do it. The woods will be safe tonight. All our soldiers are drunk or asleep. You were saying how much you missed doing it. So, why not do it now...with me?” Roche looked deep into his eyes with a look that was so earnest and excited that Iorveth found he couldn’t refuse. The henbane must be hitting him harder than usual, was he really agreeing to share a treasured elven Solstice custom with Vernon Roche? He looked back at Roche for a few long seconds, he could feel something rise in his chest, it was some kind of mix of intoxication, excitement and affection. He really did miss the Midnight Hunt and here was Roche, offering to help him relive it with a look of wild joy on his face.

“Yeah...yeah ok.” he smiled back at Roche. The dh’oine’s excitement was proving infectious. 

“Yes! Ok...what do we do? How do we start?” Roche asked.

“Well the whole point of the Hunt is to find flowers in bloom. Elves are more attuned to plants than humans...we just kind of have a sense for them, it’s hard to explain.” Iorveth replied.

“Do you think I could sense them too?” Roche asked, fascinated.

“I mean...you can try?” Iorveth laughed.

“How does it work?” Roche drew closer, hanging on Iorveth’s every word. 

“Close your eyes. Focus on your breath...and just feel the forest around you.” Iorveth said, following his own instructions. ”Let the whole of you listen to the forest, every sound, every change in the wind, every smell. They all tell you something.” As Iorveth let his own mind reach out he could feel the cold mostly slumbering forest around him. He could feel the trees with their sap pulled into their roots, slumbering for the winter. In amongst their roots he could almost feel the snoring of hibernating animals within the roots. But in amongst the slumbering forest he could feel the stirrings of life, wakeful and beginning to prime themselves for the new year ahead. Spring wildflowers were spreading their roots and sprouting their first shoots. The earliest nesting birds had begun gathering and roosting together in readiness for Spring breeding. All of them were ready for the light, the light that would come with the passing of the Solstice. He could hear Roche’s breathing change, could almost feel his heartbeat increase slightly.

“I...I think I hear it….can feel it. The forest looks so dead...but it isn’t is it?” Roche said a little breathlessly.

“No. It isn’t.” Iorveth replied, a smile tugging at his lips. Could the human actually somehow sense it too? “Now, we run. Let the forest guide us. Let it lead us to the flowers...if there are any.” He started to shrug off his cloak and pull off his gloves.

“What are you doing?” Roche asked. 

“Won’t want these if we are running.” Iorveth said simply, folding his cloak with the gloves inside and tucking it into a dry space where the rock face met the grey willow thicket. Roche watched for a minute and then followed suit. “Ready?” Iorveth asked when he was finished.

“Yeah...yeah I am.” Roche replied, that brightness back in his eyes. “Which way?”

“Which way does the forest say?” Iorveth asked. He was really starting to feel the wildness of the henbane in his system and could sense it in Roche’s too. This Hunt was going to be fun. Iorveth watched as Roche closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He stayed that way for several long minutes. Iorveth stared openly at him, it was so strange watching Roche put so much genuine effort into connecting with the forest. Something about it made Iorveth’s chest ache. Then all of a sudden Roche’s eyes opened once more and his mouth split in a grin.

“Forest says that way.” he said, pointing over Iorveth’s shoulder, up the waterfall.

“Then we go that way.” Iorveth said with an equally wide grin, turning to climb nimbly up the rock face. When he got to the top he looked down at Roche below him. “You coming?”

“Yeah. Give me a moment.” Roche replied. Iorveth watched as the dh’oine took a moment to steady himself before he climbed slowly and deliberately up the rock face. By the time he got to the top he was huffing and looked a little unsteady. “How the fuck do you do that so easily after this much drink?” he said looking at Iorveth with a mixture of awe and annoyance.

“Just like in many things, elves are just better.” Iorveth grinned. “Now, are you ready to run?”

“So ready.” Roche replied, shaking himself off and getting to his feet. Iorveth grinned at him and took off into the woods at full pelt. 

“Keep up!” he shouted behind him as he heard the sound of Roche’s steps behind him. He pushed on faster, his longer legs easily out running the dh’oine’s. 

“Fucking elves.” Iorveth heard Roche grumble from behind him. He smiled and slowed his pace so that the dh’oine could keep up. Running through the forest was always interesting, there were always obstacles to be mindful of: tree roots, ditches, rabbit holes, fallen trees or low hanging branches. Iorveth calmed his mind so that his only focus was on the forest, its secrets cast in the silvery blue of winter moonlight. He let himself feel its call, feel its thrum of life. He let it draw him onwards.

Roche finally caught up with him and Iorveth turned to him as they fell into step. Roche’s face was flushed and he had a look of almost childish joy. Iorveth understood it, there was something about running with abandon that sparked a simple primal joy. It was a joy that was rising in his own chest with the help of the henbane. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, the burning in his muscles and the harsh coldness of his breath in his lungs as he ran. He didn’t push himself forward; he simply let his limbs almost fall forward with their momentum. He let his body move as it wanted to, weaving in between the trees and branches. As they ran onwards they came to the top of a slope. Iorveth looked to Roche and he looked back.

“Ready to run really fast?” Iorveth asked.

“Fuck yes.” Roche replied with a grin. With that Iorveth launched himself down the slope, letting gravity pull him down and letting his legs pick up the pace with every stride towards the bottom. Beside him Roche was keeping pace. The dh’oine let out a whooping cry of pure joy and Iorveth couldn’t help joining in. For a few moments it felt just like the Midnight Hunts of his youth, running through the forest on Solstice night, nothing but the stars, the forest and his body running. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this free, felt this weightless. He let his cries turn into a kind of wild howl and heard Roche join him, their voices a kind of wild duet in the quiet winter forest. 

As they descended the slope got steeper, there were fewer trees and the ones that were there were tall slender birch and ash. The slope was coated in damp leaves, partly decomposed from the Autumn, Iorveth could feel himself start to slip as he ran. As he did he heard a cry from Roche and then felt the stocky body of the dh’oine barrel into him as they both started to slip down the steep leaf covered slop. They slid, tumbling over each other for a good fifty feet before they rolled to a stop, now a tangle of limbs. 

They lay there panting for several minutes before their minds, which were still halfway up the slope, caught up with them. They were both a bit battered from hitting each other and various roots and rocks on the way down, but the feeling of adrenaline coursing through them felt incredible. Roche barked out a loud laugh, flopping back into the damp leaves. Iorveth found he couldn’t help but laugh too. Now his heart rate had slowed, he could feel the henbane coursing through him even more intensely. His body felt good, like every breath of the wind across his skin was the finest pleasure. He felt alive, he felt connected to the earth beneath him, the forest around him, to the dh’oine next to him. He felt both intensely small and insignificant yet so connected to the wider bigger cosmos all at once. He just lay there and enjoyed it all.

“Fuck, I am so high.” Roche said beside him. Iorveth couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that bubbled up from him. 

“All the beauty and wonder of the forest and the henbane on Solstice night...and that’s all you can come out with?” he asked, turning to give Roche an amused look.

“Oh and I suppose your elven lordship has a sonnet for every occasion now?” Roche raised his eyebrows in mock accusation.

“He could do.” Iorveth said with a grin.

“I will only believe it when I hear it.” Roche said, knocking his shoulder into Iorveth’s.

_“Deepest is the winter, darkest is the night,_

_Life found sleeping beneath the frozen earth,_

_Resting but not dead, waiting for the light,_

_Soon to be awakened for new year’s birth,_

_The stars they are above us watching down,_

_Glittering eyes, ancient souls, distant lands,_

_All pasts and futures in darkness drown,_

_The truth of our fortune placed in our hands,_

_The dawn feels darkest before the sunrise,_

_The year feels coldest ‘til light is reborn,_

_On the longest night, we look up to the skies,_

_And bid farewell to the dark we shall not mourn,_

_Winter Solstice marks the turn of the year,_

_Give thanks to the stars, hold your loved ones near.”_

Iorveth finished reciting the sonnet with a smug smile. 

“Of course you have one memorised. Don’t know why I am surprised.” Roche laughed heartily. “Ok my turn now.” Roche sat up and put on a mock serious face before reciting a poem in an amusingly solemn voice.

_“There was a young man from Gors Velen,_

_Whose face was remarkably sullen,_

_Until his friend Nick,_

_Helped him discover his prick,_

_And he cheered up all of a sudden.”_

Iorveth burst out laughing, his breath heaving. Every time he tried to stop the combination of the henbane and Roche’s mock serious face had him spluttering into giggles again.

“Of course you dh’oine write verse as crude as that.” he chuckled, finally getting his breath back.

“Am I offending your delicate elven sensibilities?” Roche asked, laughing.

“Most definitely.” Iorveth replied, finally catching his breath from laughing. He disentangled himself from Roche and got to his feet, dusting off the wet leaves before holding out a hand to Roche. Roche looked at the offered hand and then up to Iorveth, grinning he pulled himself up, purposefully pulling as hard as possible. Iorveth snorted, keeping himself steady despite the dh’oine’s weight. Once Roche was on his feet Iorveth realised quite how close doing so had caused them to stand. This close their height difference was quite apparent. Iorveth had always been fairly tall and lanky for an elf and Roche, although he wasn’t short for a human, wasn’t tall for one either. The top of Roche’s head came up to roughly the elves chin. Iorveth wasn’t sure why this surprised him, he had been around the dh’oine enough by now. It was just that Roche’s presence had always seemed bigger than that. Iorveth cleared his throat and stepped back, giving Roche enough room to brush himself off.

“Where now elf?” Roche asked with a grin. Iorveth returned the grin before closing his eyes and allowing himself to sense the forest again. It drew him along the bottom of the slope towards the edge of the forest. Dryer soil, more light, ideal conditions for catching Winter’s first flower.

“This way.” Iorveth said, opening his eyes and launching back into a sprint.

“Fuck. Hold up.” Roche huffed as he took off after Iorveth. They ran again through the forest. Iorveth enjoyed every freezing breath he took into his lungs. He even relished the burning bite that began to grow as they pelted onward. As he started to slow, Roche caught up with him. Dh’oine had stamina, he would give them that. 

-

Roche watched the elf run off again. Damn those long elven legs, Iorveth’s stride was just so much longer than his. He drew in a deep breath and pushed forward, he could catch up...definitely. As he ran he watched Iorveth darting through the trees laughing. He had never seen the elf like this before. His body was so graceful, almost surprisingly so. Stood still Iorveth was fairly lanky and often his movements were precise and aggressive rather than flowing and graceful. But running like this, there was a graceful rhythm to his strides. He seemed lighter, freer. It was a good look on him. Roche found himself smiling despite his lungs burning from the cold air. He could feel a wild smile pull at his lips, and a strange warm feeling coil in his belly. Every brush of air against his skin sent little shivers of pleasure straight to his chest. He had never felt anything like this before. He felt light, happy, wild...free. This henbane stuff was clearly something, and Roche liked it.

As he watched Iorveth out ahead he saw him begin to slow. Roche knew it was to let him catch up and something about that made the warm coil in his belly shift and grow. He pushed on until he drew level with Iorveth. This close he could see the flush high on Iorveth’s cheekbones in the moonlight. The elf had a smile on his face as he panted from the running. Roche found himself transfixed by it, right up until he tripped on a tree root and almost fell flat on his face. Iorveth turned, offering a hand to steady him. Roche flushed, had he really nearly face planted because he was staring at Iorveth’s smile? He really must be high.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want me having to haul your ass back to your camp with a broken ankle now would you? That would be hard to explain away.” Iorveth laughed.

“And you’d carry me the whole way would you?” Roche said with a grin trying to cover his embarrassment. 

“If it came to it.” Iorveth said with a snort and a playful grin. 

“Yeah, as if you could carry me all the way back up that hill.” Roche retorted.

“Pfft, you forget dh’oine that elves are much stronger than humans.” Iorveth scoffed. Roche flushed again harder, something about the thought of Iorveth carrying him back to camp made him feel...strange. 

“Yeah, well, still don’t think you could carry me the whole way back to my camp.” Roche mumbled looking away.

“Lets not find out, eh?” Iorveth said shoving into Roche with his shoulder. Roche stumbled again and swore as Iorveth ran off again laughing.

His annoyance was short-lived. Roche loved the sound of Iorveth’s laughter. He remembered clearly the first time he had made the elf laugh and properly laugh not just a derisive snort. Iorveth had just almost deafened him with the whistle. Iorveth had laughed brightly and freely. Roche remembered how the skin around his eye crinkled and how it had made him instantly forget his annoyance at the prank. He smiled to himself and took off to give chase. 

This time he managed to catch up easily. The path had widened and flattened out as they reached the edge of the forest. They both fell into step and Roche felt his mind drift as he stopped focussing on where they were going. He just let his limbs do as they wished. He let himself take in the forest around him. He wasn’t sure if it was the henbane or wishful thinking but when Iorveth had asked him to listen to the forest, to feel it, he had really felt like he had connected with it somehow. It was hard to explain. Now he was looking for it, he could sense its expansive presence around him. Even if it was just the henbane, it still felt good. So Roche let himself feel it, feel the sense of space, sense the life going on around him. All of it was connected: the soil, the trees, the plants, the animals...all of it, even himself and Iorveth,

He allowed himself to just feel the connection, let it pull his attention onwards. For a while he lost himself in it, running down the path with Iorveth at his side. As the path started to pull to the right leading fully to the edge of the forest, Roche felt a strange pull in his chest. It was almost like he was being pulled away from the path. Something in him just wanted to head to the left. He slowed and Iorveth looked over at him with a questioning look.

“I...I am not sure why, but I think we should go this way.” Roche said. 

“You reckon?” Iorveth asked. 

“Yeah. Just a feeling.” Roche said. Iorveth raised an eyebrow but turned to follow Roche’s lead.

As soon as they turned off the path Roche felt the pull even more strongly. He looked to Iorveth next to him, Iorveth was looking at him with a curious look on his face. Roche looked away flushing. He was probably just high, but something in him knew this was the right way to go. Iorveth’s pace started to quicken, Roche was sure he was feeling it too now. They kept going, the further they went the stronger the draw became. 

Up ahead Roche could make out a clearing, something about it drew him on faster. Iorveth’s pace had picked up too. It felt like they were closing in on something, almost like a hunt. They both burst into the clearing panting and stopped dead. Roche heard Iorveth gasp in a breath. Before them was a carpet of dark waxy looking leaves all in whorls with the leaves radiating out like rays from the sun. Scattered throughout them were beautiful pale yellow flowers. Each had six large petals that were almost as large as the leaves. They curled upwards so each flower looked like a delicate orb floating in a deep emerald sky. Flowers, they had done it, they found flowers on Solstice night, and they were beautiful.

“Winter Aconite.” Iorveth whispered. He stepped forward and kneeled before the carpet of flowers, an awed expression on his face. “We found them. I...I didn’t think we actually would. It’s been so long.” His voice cracked slightly with emotion. 

“They're beautiful.” Roche said, kneeling beside Iorveth and staring at the flowers with a kind of disbelief. He hadn’t thought they would find them either. He had originally suggested this just on complete impulse. Iorveth had looked so wistful when he had spoken about it, and Roche had just really wanted to run...and well the suggestion had made Iorveth smile. And even though Roche wouldn’t admit him to himself sober, he would do a lot of things to see Iorveth smile. But, never had he expected that the hunt would be successful. He looked at the flowers, opening in the cold dark of winter. There was something almost brave about them, like they were challenging the dark head on.

He looked over at Iorveth, he was staring at the flowers with an expression so soft and heartfelt Roche almost felt like he was interrupting just by watching. As he watched, Iorveth’s mouth tugged up into a smile. He turned to Roche and he noticed that Iorveth’s eye was wet with tears. Roche shifted where he knelt and looked away, it was quite overwhelming seeing how affected Iorveth was. He felt Iorveth’s hand on his arm and turned to look at him once more.

“Thank you.” Iorveth said, looking Roche in the eye with a smile. “I never thought I would get the chance to do this again...and well.” He turned to look at the flowers again. “I can’t believe we found them.” He turned back to look at Roche. For a long moment neither of them spoke; they just looked at each other. Roche felt the warm coil in his belly rise to his chest. Iorveth looked...well he looked rather beautiful in the clear moonlight of the clearing and Roche found that he just couldn’t look away. The moment dragged on, a strange tension building between them until it felt like it might snap at any moment.

“So...what do we do now?” Roche heard himself blurt out, breaking the moment instantly.

“What do you mean?” Iorveth asked a look of mild confusion on his face.

“Errrr I mean, what do you do on a hunt once you’d found the flowers?” Roche asked.

“Well, mostly sing loudly about it and drink more.” Iorveth laughed. But, I think we have both done enough of both for one evening. There is one thing though, it is said that if you are blessed enough to find flowers during a hunt that you may make a wish that the stars will grant.”

“Then let's make a wish.” Roche said with a smile. 

“Ok.” Iorveth said softly. He turned and looked up at the sky through the clearing’s break in the canopy. He brought his hands up and clasped them together almost like he was in prayer. His eyes closed and all Roche could do was watch him as he mumbled something in Elder under his breath. He felt that heat rise again in his chest so he looked away quickly, turning his own gaze up to the stars.

What did he want to wish for? For Fenn to learn to shut up, his brain supplied unhelpfully. Roche almost chuckled at the thought. He stared up at the stars for several long moments, just taking them and the infinite dark sky in. 

_I wish Iorveth had more reasons to smile like he did tonight._

The wish came out of nowhere, but once he had thought it he knew that it was the one he wanted to make. If he had been sober, he would have likely had beaten himself up over even thinking such a thing about his supposed enemy. But, he was not sober, so fuck it.

They stayed staring at the stars for several long minutes. The silence between them felt strangely comfortable. Now they were sitting still, the cold started to seep in. He felt himself start to shiver as he turned to look at Iorveth. The elf turned and smiled at him.

“Wish for something good.” Iorveth asked.

“Yeah. Yeah I think I did, you?” Roche replied.

“I always wish for the same thing.” Iorveth said, a far off look on his face. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, every time I ask the stars to spare me from the horror that is knowing this bloede dh’oine named Vernon Roche.” Iorveth’s face split into a wide teasing grin.

“Pfft.” Roche snorted as he shoved into Iorveth. “And I suppose all those hunts from your youth, what several hundred years ago? I suppose that was your wish then too?”

“An asshole as significant as you is definitely foretold in the stars.” Iorveth laughed.

“So, the stars forewarned you that I would beat your sorry ass?” Roche replied, shoving Iorveth hard enough that he fell over in a sprawl. 

“They definitely foretold what a giant prick you’d be.” Iorveth snorted as he pushed himself back up. Roche stood back up laughing.

“See, all I’m hearing is that the stars foretold of my giant prick and honestly I am flattered.” Roche said grinning down at Iorveth. 

“Of course that is how you would take that.” Iorveth snorted as he pushed himself up too. “Fuck, its cold when you aren’t running.”

“Starting to get light too.” Roche said looking up at the sky. There were the first pale blue tints of sunrise bleeding into the sky to the east.

“Can’t have the idiots wake up unsupervised _and_ hungover.” Iorveth said.

“Pfft fuck them, I hauled half their sorry drunken asses to bed last night. I am having a lie in to sleep off this high.” Roche snorted. 

They walked companionably back along the base of the slope and up towards the waterfall. As they walked, the slow dim threads of dawn began to wake the forest. The first calls of birds and the rustling of nocturnal creatures returning to the safety of their daytime burrows. By the time they reached the top of the waterfall the sky was mostly light. Roche looked out over the forest. He had never seen the forest from up here. It was a stunning view, you could see for miles out over the treetops. He found himself standing staring at it. Most of the henbane seemed to have burned through his system now, but the last swirls of it made the view more breathtaking somehow.

“The forest really is beautiful.” he said without thinking.

“It is.” Iorveth agreed, standing next to him.

“Well, I should probably head back.” Roche said, heading to the edge and climbing down. Iorveth slipped down past him, climbing with all the agility of a squirrel. Roche let out a mildly annoyed huff as he carefully tried to find foot holds on the damp rock. Fucking elves and their fucking agility.

He let himself jump the final two feet and landed on the ground below with a heavy thump. Iorveth was waiting, both their cloaks and gloves in hand. 

“Here.” Iorveth said, offering Roche his cloak.

“Thanks.” he said, taking it from Iorveth and swinging it around his shoulders before reaching for his gloves. The warmth it gave was almost immediate. “Guess I better get going.” He turned to head off in the direction of his camp. “See you around, Iorveth.” But, before he could leave Iorveth gently caught his shoulder to stop him.

“Thanks again, for tonight. You know, for spending it with me and suggesting the hunt. And well, you are a surprisingly good friend Vernon Roche.” Iorveth said. 

“You’re welcome.” Roche replied, his cheeks flushing from Iorveth’s words. He scrambled around his brain for something to say in response. “And err, thank you for the henbane, that was quite something.”

“It always is.” Iorveth said with a laugh. He paused. “Anyway, see you around Vernon.” With that the elf swung himself back up the waterfall and away into the forest. Roche watched him leave and then turned to make his own way back, a smile he couldn’t shake tugging at his lips. Iorveth had called him his friend.

He wandered home, a grin tugging at his lips, feeling incredibly light considering how tired he was. As he entered the camp, he was greeted by a morning chorus of snoring loud enough to compete with the actual birds. His grin became even broader, he had been waiting for a moment such as this for weeks. 

He reached into his tunic and pulled out the whistle Iorveth had made him. He had fashioned an old piece of leather thong into a neck strap so he could carry it with him easily. He headed towards the tent at the far end of the camp. It was the one in the worst repair, slightly singed in places and stinking of booze, this tent was Fenn and Thirteen’s. The crazy munitions expert and the alcoholic half elf spy were not in the habit of keeping their personal space in any kind of good repair, despite the army discipline they had been subjected to. Roche waited outside and listened. He had wondered if Fenn had made it back from Finch’s tent but, by the combination of uneven bear-like snores and quieter snuffly ones it sounded like he had. Perfect.

Roche snuck into the tent, as stealthily as the task required, which was not much considering the state the pair had been in the night before. He got right between their two sleeping heads and put the whistle to his lips and blew as hard as he could. The sound was just as shrill, and obnoxious as he remembered.

He watched in glee as both of the men woke and thrashed around in surprise at the rude awakening. Fenn sat bolt upright knocking his head squarely on one of the tent poles.

“Ahhhh fuck, my head, that noise. Kill it with fire!” he cursed as he looked around in a daze. Thirteen had flailed so hard he had fallen down the side of his cot and was groaning.

“Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this?” he mumbled.

“Happy Yule boys! Just here to remind the two of you that you are clean up duty.” Roche said with enthusiasm. The pair of them groaned.

“Awwww Bossman...it’s barely even light out. And what in the ever living fuck was that noise?” Fenn asked, rubbing his ear. Thirteen made groaning noises from underneath his cot.

“It’s my new whistle.” Roche said with a grin. “Now get the fuck up and start cleaning up the mess the pair of you made last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh they are friends now :3 I love getting your comments and I hope you enjoyed this monster of a chapter. I didn't intend for it to be this long I just really enjoyed writing all the Yule stuff. I even wrote fucking poetry for this chapter xD
> 
> Short summary of Iorveth's backstory - After the conjunction Iorveth and his family move to Loc Muinne. Iorveth is unhappy and leaves to travel, during his travels his family are killed during the Loc Muinne massacre. After this Iorveth joins Aelirenn's uprising. He was in the battle of Shaerrawedd, he was not prepared to kill so when he is forced to he runs away and survives the massacre as a result. Iorveth then turns away from rebellion and lives a sad quiet life until his village is harassed by soldiers. One of them threatens to kill a child so Iorveth kills him and becomes a fugitive, leaving all of his music behind save for one flute.
> 
> Music
> 
> Valley of the Moon Reel by Alasdair Fraser, Eric Rigler, Hanneke Cassel and Natalie Haas https://open.spotify.com/track/1mc52R1XorkoNxtQX6Y7ZH?si=TBGI3GtTT_Kf_5jIzIKg2A
> 
> King Of The Fairies by Viva La Musica Celtic Ensemblehttps://open.spotify.com/track/4lDq4CcrlLCEQyLkkqfA7P?si=F2TfeztJTs24b0PtC5-w0Q
> 
> Sicilienne, Op. 78 by Jean-Pierre Rampal and Marielle Nordmann https://open.spotify.com/track/7ckOOf5ZfXzN1DfLGkaexz?si=MtzvavGGS7WEk6n3EMY24A
> 
> This one wasn't really in the fic, but I listened to it a lot trying to get into young Iorveth's headspace.  
> No Country by John Mark McMillan and Propaganda https://open.spotify.com/track/6jjH16AbB9dZhAW20UwV8v?si=2DQva0w_Q3WcauTWUC1KLQ
> 
> Jingle Bells | Jig And Reel by Viva La Musica Celtic Ensemble https://open.spotify.com/track/13SarKNco1Bp1mHud7R8t3?si=4KGyibzjRFiuD5epQiHh3g
> 
> I mention a few wassailing songs in the fic, the one Roche sings is the Yorkshire Wassail (I live in Yorkshire so it felt appropriate!)
> 
> The Wassail Song / Connaughtman's Rambles by Taylor & Prendergast and Verdier https://open.spotify.com/track/7v6Qx3aVD2GjYmXy4T3Mpc?si=98Qs0ai-SFaLPjl3jekJEg
> 
> The Yorkshire Wassail Song: "Oh, Here We Come a Wassailing" by Jacques Orchestra, Sir David Willcocks and The Bach Choir https://open.spotify.com/track/6lzddTUrhFsac208JxLBcd?si=Gg9cKRm8TBCYV_IkQHfSGg
> 
> Here we come a-wassailing by Giles Lewin, Ian Giles, Spiers and Boden Duo https://open.spotify.com/track/2QDeIgZwdpoULazWS7ql05?si=upuuktG1TzusG8feugQxoQ
> 
> Bring Us in Good Ale - New Big Band Mix by Maddy Prior and The Carnival Band https://open.spotify.com/track/5alN3WOPqsNyJXXLiFBbi8?si=Bt_oUgifTv-Dzahj1MJgSA
> 
> Celtic Alleluia (O'carolan's Air) by Viva La Musica Celtic Ensemble https://open.spotify.com/track/2XSTJCZHFFpSFaWecCk3AS?si=o3IosJSxRBm-cLcImWfIdg
> 
> Dance of the Elves by The Columba Minstrels https://open.spotify.com/track/02teihM5Ys0UsIHZSyMwL9?si=oZ7HjxblTVmQ05fsc0jcLw

**Author's Note:**

> I love to read your comments. So please feel free to share any comments you have.
> 
> If you want to follow me and my writing I also have tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-devils-goose


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